


Corrupted

by katalizi



Category: Charmed (TV 2018)
Genre: Angst, Blood and Gore, Dark fic, Descriptions of sex, F/M, Mind Control, So much angst, Torture, mild harry/macy/abigail if you're into that
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-06
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:27:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 24,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21692233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katalizi/pseuds/katalizi
Summary: Harry is stolen away by Abigail.
Relationships: Harry Greenwood/Macy Vaughn
Comments: 60
Kudos: 102





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This became much darker than I intended. Enjoy!

It had come out of nowhere. It was as if someone had reached inside him, gripped his spine, and pulled. Harry instantly collapsed to his knees, crying out in agony and yet through the pain he began to feel the strangest sensation, as though he should orb. Without a destination in mind, without time to warn the girls who were running towards him as if in slow motion, Harry blinked out of existence.

He materialised in the middle of a warzone. What looked like it had been a luxurious mansion was a rubble strewn, smoke filled crater, a sickly orange light of toxic fires the only thing illuminating a scene of death and destruction, bodies laying unmoving all about them. Through the carnage and the pain Harry’s eyes locked on a figure, dust covered and badly injured, her lips pulled back in a snarl, one hand outstretched like a claw in front of her. Abigail.

“ _Heal me_.”

Her hand tighten on thin air yet Harry felt it tighten against his bones. With an agonised yelp he staggered forward, falling to his knees beside Abigail as that familiar healing light began to glow between them, though he did not remember calling it. As he passed a hand over her broken body her breathing evened out and a look of relief passed over her face, and as the white glow began to fade he was finally able for the first time to truly look at her, to look into her eyes. Triumph he saw there, with a strange hint of apology.

He spoke in a horse tone. “What did you do?”

“Oh, sweet trusting Harold,” she reached on hand up, her fingertips just barely grazing against his temple. “You really should’ve known better than to allow a demon to just run around inside your head.”

* * *

Macy had no idea what just happened. One moment they were all safe and sound in the Command Centre, shaken but relieved after they’d managed to escape what looked like the implosion of the newly formed demon council. Maggie and Parker were still clinging to each other, Mel was beyond furious and completely out of potions, while Macy was struggling to stand after nearly draining herself using her demonic powers. Then, just as Harry had turned to her, the faintest beginnings of a smile curving his lips, he’d suddenly collapsed to the ground. His cry of pain went right through Macy but before she could reach him he’d orbed away.

“But there was something different about it,” Mel had said later as they poured over the Book of Elders. “It was like he was being pulled.”

“Well, it was clear he didn’t go of his own accord,” snapped Macy, pacing back and forth.

“I know, Macy,” said Mel, just as tense. “I’m just trying to talk this through.”

Macy froze, then came back to the table. “I’m sorry, Mel. I’m just …”

Mel reached out to grab her hand. “We all are.”

“Uh, guys?”

They both turned as Maggie and Parker came down the stairs together, Parker still looking a little awkward and out of place. Maggie continued, “I think we might have something. Or, Parker might.”

The young half-demon fidgeted as the undivided attention of the two older sisters were turned towards him, but pushed on nonetheless. “So, uh, Maggie told me Harry allowed Abigail to preform a demon mind-meld?”

* * *

A change of loyalty. That’s how Abigail had framed it. “Really, it’s nothing more than what the Elders had been doing to your mind for decades. Perhaps my way was a little less delicate but the results are the same.”

She’d put a ticking bomb in his brain and he hadn’t even been aware of it, a bomb designed to sever his connection to the Charmed Ones. Charity had done the same, then the Command Centre when it stripped their auras and now this, but this was so much worse. Before, it had just been a loss of connection. Now, he could feel his innate desire to protect and guide had been tethered to another. Was now realigned with Abigail Caine.

The demonic connection was corrupted in a way he could feel in his soul. _“Take me home,”_ she’d ordered and without hesitation he’d gripped her arm and orbed them both to her safehouse. Never before had the mantra of _Whitelighters were made to serve witches_ been so deeply etched into his bones. He didn’t just want to serve her, he knew he had no choice but to, and his neck itched with the phantom presence of a glowing collar.

Abigail herself seemed a little unsure of how far this connection went. Once they were back in her luxurious if somewhat tacky apartment she’d eyed him up and down, circling him like a predator.

 _“Sit down,”_ she suddenly ordered. Immediately, he sat. _“Stand up.”_ He obeyed, and she let loose a delighted little giggle that disturbed him all the more by how innocent it sounded. “Oh, I can’t believe it actually worked! Finally. I get my own Whitelighter.”

“Congratulations,” said Harry dryly.

Her eyes flashed. “I am half witch, after all. I should’ve had one to help guide me through all … I remember my mother’s Whitelighter. Kind. Sweet. Well, like all of you have to be, I suppose.” She turned her back to him and started to prepare herself a drink. “Mother obviously kept the identity of my father a secret. She’d hoped that my witch side would overcome my demonic nature, that I’d come into my powers and be accepted and welcomed into the magical community when I turned thirteen.”

“Thirteen,” echoed Harry. “The same age you went looking for your father?”

Her back stiffened. “Yes. Because instead of some other-worldly Mary Poppins I got a sour-faced Elder intent on binding my powers and wiping my mind of any memories of my life before.” She turned back to him slowly, nursing her drink. “Just like I suspect they would’ve done to Macy, had they known about her heritage sooner.”

“Don’t talk about Macy,” he snapped, even as his mind went back to those awful days when Charity — the woman he was _sleeping_ with — had tried to do exactly that. When he had failed Macy and her sisters so throughly. “You and her are nothing alike.”

“Well that’s obviously not true,” she shrugged. “We’re both demon-witches, both fighting for our place in this bloody male dominated world …” She’d crept closer to him, her eyes raking over his body in a way that was becoming irritatingly familiar. “Both a little isolated, a little cold … lonely. _Kiss me_.”

He felt like a puppet. His hands came to her waist as his head dipped to catch her lips with his. She made a small sound of pleasure as the hand that wasn’t holding a drink came up to scratch lightly against his neck, a prickling of heat shooting down his spine …

Then he snapped back, the order having run its course. “Don’t,” he growled softly before pushing her away, but deep in his gut real fear began to grow for the first time. She could make him do anything, absolutely anything against his will. And he had no way of stopping it.

Her face was unreadable. After a few second she downed her drink in one go, her eyes never leaving his, before turning and sweeping towards the door, issuing one last order. “ _Stay in this room_.”

As soon as he was alone his wiped the back of his hand against his mouth and tried to shake off the lingering spark of unwanted heat in his skin.

* * *

Three days. Three days since Abigail had stolen Harry.

They’d tried everything, finally pooling all their hopes and resources into a summoning spell that the Elders used for wayward Whitelighters. It was a spell used to imprison Whitelighters who disobeyed the Council, complicated and brutal, and Maggie had fretted that they might hurt Harry in the process of retrieving him but they had all reasoned that surely he’d forgive them of any little hurt so long as they brought him home. But when a small fizzle of smoke was all that was produced their biggest fears were confirmed.

“His connection to the Elders was severed,” said Mel in a small voice as they watched the pathetic trail waft away. “I know we all said this might stop them us finding him but … it’s so drastic, this spell, I really thought …”

“Or,” Parker began, putting into words the thing none of the sisters could, “It could be that he’s already …”

Macy couldn’t take it anymore. She felt she had to scream, or punch something, or set fire to something, or, or … With her face set she marched away from her sisters and Parker, no destination in mind, just desperate to be alone where she could rage in peace. The Command Centre sometimes felt a little meandering and endless in its deepest parts, like a dim library from a fantasy world, and as soon as Macy couldn’t hear distant voices anymore she sunk to the floor, her back up against a shelf, elbows braced against her knees, her hands in her hair. Her body was shaking as her need to lash out slammed against her natural desire for control. In the end, neither side won out and all that happened was that she became frozen where she was.

She had no idea how much time had passed before the gently clicks that could only be Maggie’s footsteps echoed down the aisle. “Macy? Are you okay?”

She pulled her hands out of her hair, slowly running them down her cheeks before she glanced up, ready to lie. But one look at Maggie’s face undid her.

“No,” she whispered as the tears finally overflowed. “I’m not.”

Maggie was by her side in an instant, enveloping her in a firm hug and holding onto her as a few hot, painful tears scalded her face. She didn’t loose herself to weeping, that was something a lifetime of too much control had left her, but it was enough. _We cry for release,_ she reminded herself and as Maggie rocked her back and forth Macy started to feel some of the tension from the past few days ease within her.

“This is all my fault.” The words came tumbling out before she could stop them, but Maggie seemed to have expected such an outburst.

“No, it isn’t.”

“I’m the one who brought Abigail here in the first place —”

“And Harry was the one who allowed her to wander in his mind and then accidentally let her escape.”

“He only did that to try and find _me_.”

“And I think even now he doesn’t regret it,” said Maggie as she held up a hand to stop Macy’s tirade. “When we can’t find something or someone to blame for a situation, it’s always easier to blame ourselves. There’s a sense of control in that, but it’s a false sense that puts way too much responsibility on the individual and is ultimately counter-productive.”

Beat. “Wow. You’re really good at that.”

“I might not have finished my education but I did managed to retain some useful bits and pieces,” smiled Maggie proudly as she wrapped an arm around Macy’s shoulders and pulled her close.

“I’m just so worried,” Macy sniffed.

“We all are,” said Maggie. “But I think this might be even harder for you.” When Macy shot her a curious look she shrugged. “You know. Because of how you feel about him.”

Macy froze again for a moment before her eyes darted away. “That obvious, huh?”

“No,” Maggie drew out the word. “Not at all, like, in any way. Even when I had my powers it was only ever sitting on a ‘maybe’. You really have your emotions on lock.”

“Yeah, well, years of practice will do that,” mumbled Macy sadly, picking at the fabric on her leggings. Maggie’s hand reached over to stop it.

“You know he cares about you, too.”

Macy drew in a deep sigh before answering. “I _know_.”

Maggie hummed, a few moments passing before the weight Macy put on those words sunk in. “Wait. What? What do you mean, ‘you _know_ ’?

 _Oh God_. Well, everything else is falling apart. “When I was the Source, I managed to read Harry’s mind. And I felt it. He … he cares about me. Deeply. More deeply than I’d ever imagined possible.” She couldn’t say the word, not even after everything else. Because her reaction to this unintentional confession still haunted her at times and she felt her cheeks heat with shame. “And I … uh, I kinda dismissed him. Just out of hand. Let him know I could read his thoughts but … it was more like a brag at the time. I had so much power running through me, I was seeing the world in a way I never imagined before and never want to again, and for a second when I saw that this man, this Whitelighter who’d been sent to serve me had somehow become attached … Maggie, I didn’t see it for what it was. I didn’t see him.”

“And afterwards?” Maggie carefully asked.

Macy shrugged. “He … seemed fine. He made a joke about it, then suggested that we just pretend it never happened.”

“And you were happy with that?”

“I was actually very relieved,” she admitted. “The whole thing was just … after everything else, it was too much. He said exactly what I needed to hear and I was actually really grateful at the time that we didn’t talk about it. I … kinda regret that now.”

They sat there quietly for a little longer. “So when do you think you started to …?”

“I honestly don’t know. But I do."

“Don’t give up hope. We’re going to get him back.”

She sighed again and rested her head against Maggie’s shoulder, content to just sit in comfortable silence for a little while, to feel the warmth of her sister beside her. Eventually they both stirred at the sound of Parker calling their names as he rounded a stack to find them.

“Hey … Mel says she’s found something else she wants to try, if you’re …”

“We’re good,” said Macy, stretching before standing up, trying her best to ignore the faintest twinge of jealously she felt as Parker helped Maggie to her feet.

“Are you sure?” asked Maggie.

“Yeah, I just … could you give me a moment? I’ll catch up.”

The pair nodded, their hands easily finding each other as they walked away. As soon as she was alone again Macy closed her eyes and focused. Focused her mind on the one thing she’d been trying not to think about for three days, because it had just been too painful. _Don’t give up hope._

She focused on her memories of Harry. Of the small, mundane things. The way he’d raise his eyebrows in what she’d thought of as his ‘teacher face’. The very particular way he’d make his tea that he’d once explained wasn’t so much for the flavour, but rather the peace he found in the process of it all. How he’d tap the back of his hand into his palm when he was thinking, claps his hands behind his back when he was nervous, fold his arms when he was desperately trying to keep his options to himself. How free he was with his compliments. In a world where most people’s natural instinct was to insult, even playfully, his was to instantly admire anything at all he found impressive or charming. How red he’d looked the day she finally managed to catch him out watching _Heaven’s Vice_. How soft his voice had been after Galvin’s party when he’d admitted to his loneliness. The feel of his arms around her after the draining blood spell. That look he gave her when he siphoned the poison from her, saving her life once again. That look he gave her that night when she’d assured him that she’d always be able to tell the difference between him and his dark double.

“Harry …?” She knew, logically, that this wasn’t going to work. They’d tried it already, the moment he’d disappeared, but they were also almost completely out of options and she had to try something. Maybe, maybe there was some way … “Harry …?”

She could hear her heart beating in her chest. Then, for the smallest moment, she felt him. Felt as if she were to turn around she’d see him standing there, same as always.

But only for a moment. The sensation faded and she was left alone, half doubting if what she felt was anything more than wishful thinking.

Then she squared her shoulders, took a deep breath, and began to march back to the main room. She sure as hell wasn’t beaten yet.

* * *

He couldn’t help but compare this to his time in Tartarus. At least there were no scorpions, no horrid flashes of a life he was loathed to remember. Accommodation was nicer. But with his free will now almost non-existent he could feel himself starting to slip into despair.

Three days. Three days and Harry still wasn’t used to being Abigail’s plaything.

The worst part was that she wasn’t outwardly cruel. She was more like a child carefully poking and prodding some poor bug she’d managed to capture, though Harry was just waiting for the day she pulled his wings off. At least she hadn’t ordered him to kiss her again, seemingly satisfied for the moment on that particular curiosity. Before Harry had found her attentions amusing, if somewhat confusing, and had attributed them more to Abigail’s innate desire to make everyone around her a little uncomfortable than any real attraction to him. But now, whenever he felt her gaze shift from mischievous to something a little more sinister, he felt his skin crawl.

Because it wasn’t the things she asked him to do that were draining. It was what she asked him to talk about.

And he told her everything he knew, secrets spilling out of him like sand from a broken hourglass as she sat by her laptop, studiously recording anything that might of use for her later. If he wasn’t so frustrated at how he was being used he might very well have been impressed at her work ethic.

But late on the third night when they were both exhausted, her with her feet on the desk and him on the other side of the room, as far from her as he could get, she’d started asking him questions he could almost hate her for.

“So,” she began with a lazy sigh. “ _What’s the deal with you and Macy?_ ”

His head that had been in his hands snapped up. “She’s my charge, I’m her Whitelighter.” He knew this was only delaying the inevitable but he wouldn’t give her this without a fight.

Abigail gave him a hard look. “ _Tell me what you think about Macy._ ”

“I think she’s everything.” He felt as if he were being cut into and the words dragged out. “I think she’s one of the most intelligent, compassionate, capable people I’ve ever met and even before I knew … what I know about her, it would break my heart to think that she didn’t see herself the same way. I think she’s been lonely for so long that she is only just now realising that her family really isn’t going anywhere. I think she’s a splendid baker. I think that her capacity for warmth and love even after everything she’s been through is remarkable. I think her laughter, even at the most mundane of things, is the most beautiful sound in the world. I think _she’s_ beautiful. I think … I think she’s going to smack that nasty smirk off your face and beat you into the ground one day.”

Abigail’s feet swung off the desk as she sat bolt upright. Harry gave her a feral little grin, always pleased when he could find some way circumnavigate her demands. But his victory was short lived.

“ _Do you want to fuck her?_ ”

The colour drained from his face. “Yes.”

“ _Tell me, how you would do it?_ ”

Just as his stomach began to tighten to the point that he thought he was going to be sick a sharp ringing announced the arrival of a guest. She almost pouted as she said, “ _Hold that thought._ ” and he thankfully swallowed the words.

It was Godric, her right-hand demon. As what was becoming the norm she ordered Harry to stand at-ease in the corner and not speak at any point. Harry wasn’t overly sure why she seemed to enjoy having him around as breathing furniture while she conducted her little meetings with various demons as they discussed the factions fracturing and combining at alarming rates. He guessed it was because she simply got a kick out of how some of the demons would look at him, curious, hateful, sometimes even lustful. He was like a silent boast on her part, a trophy to be admired.

He was getting goddamned sick of it.

Godric was only there for his usual late night update, this time focused on trying to appease the Vagrant bloodline. Apparently Parker’s enforced passivity had really began to chaff at the bit and they were eager for a little bloodletting.

“Well, now’s not the best time, obviously. The last thing we need is to draw more attention to ourselves,” said Abigail, seemingly already bored of the conversation. “So you’re just going to have to tell them to hold it in a little longer.”

“That might not be possible,” Godric said carefully. “They have been on their best behaviour for a while now. Something is going to have to give.” His eyes darted to Harry, who felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up. “What about him?”

“What about him?”

“I don’t think you truly appreciate what a rarity you have here,” said Godric, pacing slowly around Harry as if he were inspecting some fine animal breed. “The very last Whitelighter, a broken relic. Whitelighters were the bane of so many demons so I can only imagine what some of them would love to do him, what entertainment they could wring from his body …” A wicked smile curved his lips. “And you say he can’t die? We could use that to curry favour from the Vagrants by lending him out, then later, if that proves effective, passing him from group to group … until every last shred of what’s left of his soul was gone.”

“Well, what use would he be of to me then?” she snapped.

Godric narrowed his eyes. “So you won’t consider it?”

“Of course I will, it’s a good idea, everyone loves a party,” she said waspishly. “But unlike you I’m not in the habit of breaking my toys. He’s too useful for that.”

“But not useful enough to destroy the Power of Three?” pressed Godric. “Seriously, why don’t you just order him to kill them? Orb their hearts out of their chests?”

“Because these aren’t some crystal and incense witches, Godric, they’re the Charmed Ones. They’re the only thing that can break my hold over him. I can’t risk him getting near them.”

“And if they get near him?”

“It’s fine,” gritted Abigail. “Harry? _If you see any one of the Charmed Ones, you are to kill them immediately_.” She sighed and rubbed at her eyes. “No, you’re right, Godric. If we don’t do something to appease the Vagrants this really could ruin further chances at unity.”

“So what do you propose?”

Though her words were practical there was a tenseness around her eyes. “We don’t ‘lend him out’. We host a party at one of my nicer places — perhaps at one of those Greek islands? — and then we let them at him. Blood and booze, they always enjoy that don’t they? We’ll give them a night so glorious that all they’ll think about for years.”

Harry listened to the whole thing as if from very far away. Even though Godric was still uncomfortably in his personal space he felt extremely isolated. He closed his eyes, did his best to calm his mind, and looked inwards. _Ladies …_

Sometimes he thought he felt threads, remains of his link to the Vera-Vaughn sisters, but they shifted and danced out of his grasp like evening light. He was alone. He’d never felt more alone.

Then a rough hand grabbed his chin, forcing him to open his eyes and stare into the red demon’s in front of him. No, he was worse than alone. He was surrounded by filth.

“What were you doing?” snarled Godric.

“He can’t do anything, not without my permission, so hands off my pet, please.”

After a few tense moments Godric released him and turned back to Abigail. Their conversation moved on from Harry’s role in their bread and circuses and onto the more mundane workings of the demonic world until Godric finished his report and they called it a night.

As soon as he was gone Harry was worried she’d go back to their previous conversation, but she seemed rather distracted. After several painful minutes of silence he finally spoke.

“You’d do anything, wouldn’t you, if you thought it would give you an advantage.”

She stiffened, but didn’t look at him. “I would. But I won’t enjoy it.”

“I’m touched.” He echoed her earlier words, trying to put as much dripping sarcasm into them as possible.

She looked like she might say something more. Then her mouth clicked shut and she strode from the room. As soon as he was alone Harry slid against the wall and collapsed on the floor, his elbows coming to rest on his knees as he supported his head. He was so tired. He just wanted to go home.

It was then that it happened.

It wasn’t the clear, usual ringing that echoed in his mind but faint, soft, like hearing music playing from someone’s home as one passed by on the street. But it was there.

_Harry …?_

_Macy._ His lips formed her name silently, like a prayer. As with any other time someone called him he could hear nothing more than his name. He knew if it was shouted or whispered and it was usually infused with enough emotion to prepare him for what he might face when he arrived — panicked, frustrated, pragmatic — but never anything more than one word. Years of responding to calls meant that he could tell instantly that Macy was saying his name lowly, quietly, hesitantly. There was a break on the syllable as her breath had hitched. As if she might’ve been crying.

_Harry …?_

Every cell in his body wanted to orb away, to fly away home to her, to break from whatever demonic leash had been tied to his soul. Perhaps he could? He could almost feel his powers start to rise within him, to focus …

“Harry? What is it?”

He nearly cursed. He’d been so fixated on the faint call that he’d completely missed Abigail reentering the room.

“It’s nothing.”

_“Tell me.”_

“Macy’s calling me,” he said as his mind screamed out. “I want to go to her.”

Abigail looked worried. “That shouldn’t be possible.” She started towards him, her hands raised to grab at his face once more.

“No, no …” he leapt to his feet and backed away, hands up to ward her off. _No, please let me keep this. Just this. If I can have nothing more please let me keep her voice …_

But her grip was already upon him and like a door slamming Macy's voice was shut out of his mind.

Something snapped. He had no idea how it happened but suddenly he found himself slamming Abigail up against the wall, his fists bunched up in the fabric of her shirt, face twisted into a snarl. For a second she seemed shocked, then a pleased grin bloomed across her features, soft laughter bubbling from her lips. This infuriated him and for a second all he wanted to do was to smash her head over and over again, to rip her apart, to break her, to make her for one moment feel as helpless as he did …

Then the moment of insanity passed. He slowly released her and backed away, sicken by his own mind, unable to look her in the eye. He heard her sigh.

“Pity. We were just starting to have a little fun.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Gayle voice* So was anyone going to tell me that it's spelt AbigAEL, not AbigAIL, or was I just supposed to read that in the comments section myself?
> 
> Also, fair warning, this has some pretty dark themes, torture and some slight non-con stuff. I can't believe I've gone back to writing whump.

Ten days passed and the Charmed Ones were still no closer to finding a way to bring their Whitelighter home, their anger, determination and grit devolving into a hopelessness that was getting harder and harder to ignore.

The one positive development came after Mel discovered black amber in a tree that had been growing underneath them the entire time and they had reclaimed the Power of Three. Sort of. It still felt somewhat stilted, faint, like a skill a little too long out of use, but it was there. But still, it wasn’t enough.

It was only then that Macy finally suggested that idea that had been nagging her for the past few days. Maggie had been horrified. Mel had barely contained her disgust and then spent hours trying to dissuade her. Even Parker had felt brave enough to voice his concern. But Macy hadn’t backed down and eventually, unwilling as they might have been, the others agreed to help her with it. That’s how they found themselves deep in the woodlands outside of Seattle in the early hours of the morning, far from their home and Safe Space, far enough away so that if anything went wrong there’d be no collateral damage.

Once again they cast the summoning spell the Elders had created to capture wayward Whitelighters. But this time, they added their own spin to it, focusing instead on another creature of the same origin.

All three of them immediately felt the difference as they chanted, felt a pull, a resistance, and finally a rage filled scream as the individual they sought was forced into the spiritual cage they’d set up for him. He’d immediately thrown himself against the mystical barrier causing all but Macy to take a step back even though they knew it would be strong enough to hold him and after a few more fruitless attempts at freedom their captive finally calmed down long enough to assess his situation.

Jimmy Westwell’s hands were bunched into fists at his sides as his hard gaze slide from sister to sister, finally landing on Macy. “What the hell is this?”

Macy stepped closer. She didn’t trust the Darklighter and wouldn’t underestimate him, but neither was she afraid. He watched her approach like a wild animal that was still debating whether or not to bite. “We need your help.”

* * *

Abigael had taken him to ‘one of her nicer places’, though that was an understatement. She had settled on a beautiful, isolated Greek island where her villa resembled more of a miniature town with a large communal square in the middle, plenty of rooms, walkways and adjoining villas. It was a lovely place where the evening air was warm and fragrant, and the rush of the waves at the base of the cliffs relaxed and soothed one to sleep.

This was where Harry was supposed to die.

He’d been made to help Abigael set up the function for days but now that the night had actually arrived she’d ordered him to say secreted in her bedroom, the special surprise hidden away as her guests started to arrive. The previously calm of the villa was broken as the echoes of the shouts and laugher from those of the Vagrant Bloodline filled its halls, making Harry’s skin crawl. While all demons were inherently vile, Vagrants were the ones who delighted in violence for the sake of violence, who tortured, mutilated and destroyed anyone who was unfortunate to cross them. Harry paced the spacious bedroom as he tried to keep calm, tried to ignore the uncomfortable pounding of his heart in his chest, the sick feeling coating his stomach. In some ways it didn’t feel quite real and sometimes he wondered if he was still actually in Tartarus, that he’d never been rescued and all his memories since were nothing more than an elaborate torture … which, when he looked back at his life for the past few months, wasn’t totally inconceivable.

He turned as he heard the door open to see Abigael, resplendent in an opulent black dress. She closed the door and locked it, clearly to keep any unwanted guests out more than to keep him in. She didn’t need a physical lock for that. For a moment she leant against the door and simply looked at him, her eyes raking up and down in the familiar way. He was dressed very simply, tan trousers and a white collared shirt, leaning a little too heavily into the ‘good guy’ image in his opinion. White wasn’t really his colour … in fact the last time he’d worn white was when he’d been asked to by … no. He couldn’t think of that, not now.

When she didn’t speak he asked curtly, “Can I help you?”

“Always,” she said. She pushed herself off the door and stalked closer. “ _Are you nervous?_ ”

“I’m terrified,” he answered.

“Well, you shouldn’t be. After all, you will come back.”

“But it doesn’t mean that it won’t hurt. And ‘coming back’ isn’t that simple. I’ve only done it once and it … it’s not an experience I ever wanted to relive.”

She stopped in front of him, reaching up to brush some invisible lint off his shirt, fix his collar. “You know, it’s tradition for the commended to make a final request.”

“Let me go?” he asked sarcastically.

She smiled at him and he was surprised to see a certain kind of sadness to it. “I can’t. But just because you’re going to go through some pain tonight —” _That’s a bloody understatement_ , he thought. “ — doesn’t mean you can’t experience just a little bit of pleasure beforehand.” Her hand at his collar trailed further up, brushing against his neck, making him shiver involuntarily, while the other one plucked at his shirtfront, untucking it so she could run her fingers across the sensitive skin of his stomach. Unwanted heat began to settle low in his gut.

He made no move to back away, unsure if that might provoke her into ordering him to … but he had to stop this. “Don’t …” he whispered, turning his head, the most he dared to move.

“But it feels good, doesn’t it? You like it. I can tell. Harry …” her hand under his shirt moved past his hips around to his back while the one at his neck dropped to pick a button loose at his throat. “It’s not a sin to indulge in the joys of the flesh. Tell me … _when was the last time you laid back and just allowed yourself to be pleasured_?”

“Never,” he gasped unwillingly, heat rising to his cheeks.

She hummed, moving close enough that he could feel every line of her body against his, her lips by his ear. “I guessed as much. You were made to serve and nothing more. You were never supposed to have your own desires or your own appetites, so you decided long ago that if you cannot be loved, you might as well be useful. And you delighted in that, didn’t you? But it was never quite enough because sooner or later those you served would always decided that they didn’t need you anymore. And on you would go, passed around like an unfortunate orphan. But I know you still long to be wanted. Because I’m the same. Rejected by my family, considered an abomination by both halves of my lineage. The one thing I can have mastery over is my own temptations. I’ll never love you, you know that. But I want you. So what do you say, condemned man? One last meal?”

His eyes had drifted shut as he felt himself become seduced by her words, but as she finally pulled back and he was able to breath, he fixed her with an unimpressed stare. “I’d rather starve.”

This was clearly not the answer she’d expected and she drew back as if he’d slapped her. Then he saw it clear as day in her face; she was seriously considering simply ordering him to fuck her. She could even order him to _like_ it. But the moment passed and she instead drew herself up, throwing her head back. “Fine,” she snapped. “Then I don’t see why we should be delaying my guests your company any longer.”

* * *

Jimmy laughed, low and mocking. “Excuse me? You want me to do what?”

Macy’s stone expression didn’t change. “Are you saying you can’t do it?”

“Well of course I can,” he snapped, as she knew he would the moment his pride was scratched. “But the real question is, why? What would I get out of this?”

Her stare didn’t falter as she simply answered, “Me.”

At this he froze and stared, waiting for the trick, the trap. But there wasn’t one.

Macy’s plan was relatively simple with a lot of complicated outcomes, outcomes her sisters were not sure they’d be able to control. Summon Jimmy and use his Darklighter connection to find Harry.

_“But we can’t trust a word he says!” argued Mel. “How can we possibly know if he’s telling the truth or not?”_

_“Because I’m going to get it from him first hand,” explained Macy. “If Abigael can do a demon mind-meld when she’s only half demon, then surely I should be able to do the same.”_

_“Wait,” said Maggie. “That’s even more insane. You want to summon the Darklighter then mind-meld with him? There are so many things that can go so wrong with this!”_

_“I know! Of course I know! But Harry’s still prisoner somewhere and … I just don’t know if we have any more options left.”_

They had conceded the point, even if they were both extremely worried about the whole thing. Particularly how Macy intended to use his desire for her against him, as she’d done before.

“You?” he asked slowly, his eyes flickering between the disgusted looks on her sister’s faces and back again. “In what way do you mean?”

“In any way. Every way.” Her voice was strong even as she felt an icy cold sensation pool in her gut. Her feelings for the Darklighter were complicated, to say the least. She at least acknowledged that she desired him, that she was intrigued by him, that she even felt her heart break a little at the thought of his imprisonment and torture. But he was still what he was, cruel, demanding, a killer, and the thought of just handing herself over to him both made her skin crawl and her blood warm. “You help me bring Harry home, and you can have me in any which way you please.”

She thought that along with his natural selfishness would be enough and was surprised when instead a dark cloud passed over his features. “No. I don’t want anything from you like this.”

She blinked. “What do you mean?”

He scoffed and looked away, as if she were an idiot. “Because it wouldn’t be about us. You’d be thinking about _him_.”

She felt her sisters shift at her back, but still she pressed on. “But if you did this, I would owe you something. I’d be in your debt, a debt you could call on at any given time. Don’t you want that?”

He turned back and smiled slowly, lecherously. “Well, I can’t say I’m not tempted.”

Macy matched his smile with her own small, sharp grin. “And you know what they say about temptation.”

Jimmy snorted, looked away again, fidgeting. He always seemed to need to move while Harry was strictly under control. Jimmy stooped, Harry stood ram-rod straight. Macy wasn’t lying when she said she’d only needed a look; they might’ve had the same face but were still so vastly different. After a few more moments of contemplation he spoke.

“You know, it’s not as simple as just peaking into his memories and figuring out where he is,” he said. “If I could do that I would’ve ended all this ages ago.”

“I know,” said Macy. “Which is why I’m coming into that containment with you and we’re going to mind-meld.”

“Oh, very clever,” he nodded sardonically. “And in the meantime you’ll just happen to get a look in at all my secrets?”

“As much as it would help us in the long run, no. I promise you that. Because all I care about, all I want, is to bring Harry home. And I need you to do that. So? Will you help me?”

An incredibly sour look leaked onto his face as he realised how much Macy was willing to risk to get her Whitelighter, a burning envy that couldn’t be satisfied and for a moment she was terrified she’d lost him. Then, without moving a muscle; “Sure. Let's do this. But you will owe me, Macy, and I will most definitely come to collect one day.”

Her stomach clenched. _And one day I will have to deal with that. But today, we bring Harry home._

“Remember,” said Mel, raising a hand threateningly towards Jimmy. “You try anything and I’ll turn you inside out.”

“She can do that now?”

“She can do that.”

Macy took a deep breath and carefully entered the circle where Jimmy was contained, making sure not the break the line as she stepped over it. He watched her movements through narrowed eyes but didn’t flinch as she raised her hands to place them either side of his head, closing her eyes and concentration.

The briefest falling sensation followed, making her feel as though she’d missed a step, then suddenly they were back in the woods — or at least a darkened mirror of the woods.

“So, this is your mind,” remarked Macy. “It’s kinda sparse.”

Jimmy shot her a dirty look but didn’t comment.

Suddenly, the faint sound of cheering could be heard and after a quick glance at each other they began to move towards it. As they got closer the trees faded out and a strange image was placed on top, as if they were watching everything through a holograph, realistic but untouchable. They were looking upon a fraction of a scene but there was enough to understand what was going on.

“Well well well, what a difference a witch in your mind makes,” said Jimmy as they stood side by side, viewing what could only be described as party. It looked as though it was being held in a very luxurious villa somewhere and that it was crowded with what looked like the scummiest kind of demons. And there, standing in the middle of the crowd, was Harry.

Macy gasped and almost moved towards him before she controlled herself. He looked well if incredibly out of place. They weren’t touching him just yet, but the shouts and jeers from the crowd made a cold shiver run down Macy’s spine. What was he doing there?

A hush fell over the crowd as Abigael stepped forward. “My fellow demons, I know the past few months have been tough, that your better natures have been restricted and restrained by one who thought he knew yourselves better.” The jeers grew louder. “But I am here tonight to tell you — you are perfect. Saints, almost.” The jeers turned to hacking laughter that Abigael smiled along with. “No, truly. I commend you for having to put up with a child’s rule for so long. So, as promised, tonight is where you are free to let it all go. To eat, drink, and be as merry as possible. And of course, there wouldn’t be a party without a little loss of life. I understand. However, we all know that too much kill leaves too many bodies and too many questions and frankly, none of us wish to deal with that. So, I give you him,” she turned, extending a hand towards Harry who glared back. “The man unable to die. The Last of the Whitelighters.”

The jeers and boos rose to fever pitch as Macy’s heart felt as though it were about the break her ribs. “No …” she whispered. “What are they going to do to him?”

“I think I can guess,” muttered Jimmy, but when she looked at him, expecting to see some sort of delighted glee at his other half’s predicament, all she saw was a carefully schooled neutral expression.

“I’d say a nice traditional fist fight is how we should start,” continued Abigael. “So choose your fighters.”

Three of the biggest Vagrants were selected as the crowd drew back far enough to give them all room, the demons pacing around Harry in a way that he couldn’t keep all of them in his sight.

“Well?” cried Abigael. “Don’t keep us waiting. Begin!”

They instantly began laying into him, throwing violent, heavy punches that impacted with sickening thuds that even the baying crowd couldn’t quite drown out. But what shocked Macy was how Harry matched their violence, punching one directly in the throat before getting another on the ground and stomping on his ribcage, a terrible look of focused rage froze on his face. He was hitting them with such force his knuckles soon became busted and bloody, yet he didn’t slow down. Macy knew Harry could fight but now she thought about it she’d only ever really seen him tackle and contain, never go out of his way to actually hurt people. But he could. And it looked like he’d done this before.

She chanced a glance at Jimmy. He didn’t look back.

However, Harry’s skills ultimately were for nothing, not against three of the more vicious kind of demons. For every blow he landed he took way too many in return, and soon his face was dripping with blood, his stance bent in pain from broken ribs, his previous light footwork becoming staggered and unsure. Then the biggest one threw one spectacular haymaker that connected with Harry’s jaw, and with a disgusting _pop_ Macy watched as it became dislocated.

Harry dropped to his knees, eyes wide in shock and pain but unable to scream. The same Vagrant grabbed his shirt front and hit him again. And again. And again. The crowd screamed and cheered in frenzied delight as Harry’s face became unrecognisable pulp before the Vagrant dropped him to the ground and raised one foot to stomp on his throat —

— and the memory went white.

Macy was trembling, tears streaking down her face though she was unsure when she’d started crying. “Is he …?”

Before Jimmy could answer the image in front of them flickered and changed, first to total darkness, then back to the courtyard. And there Harry was, alive, unscathed, the blood on his clothes the only sign of his previous ‘death’. The crowd screeched in delight, obviously only now believing that Harry couldn’t be permanently killed, and dreadful suggestions began to be shouted down.

“Chop off his head! Then do that thing were you ask it to blink or somethin’!”

“Cut him open! Pull out his bits, see how long he lasts!”

“Anyone remember strappado?"

Amongst all that Harry stood there, silent, head still held up though his eyes seemed very far away. His breathing was heavy and his hands shook by his sides but beyond that he gave the crowd nothing as he awaited his fate.

“You don't have to watch this.” Jimmy’s voice was soft, more sincere than she’d ever heard before. “It’s a memory, it’s already happened. You can’t do anything to help him now.”

When she spoke, her voice was much more firm and in control than she expected. “No. I need to know. I need to see what they did to him.”

It was beyond horrific.

They decided to go with decapitation first and when Harry refused to kneel he was downed with a gut punch and held there, two demons holding his arms outstretched and forcing his head down, neck exposed. But they botched the first attempt. The memory flashed to white again and when it reformed it turned out that it’d taken six blows to remove his head and everyone was seriously disappointed that he’d died on the first hit. The crowd booed and jeered as the axe was passed on to a slight female demon who this time managed to seperate his head in one clean fell. Macy tasted blood as she watched it bounce along the ground, able to see it this time _because Harry was still conscious_.

One demon ran forward and grabbed the head by the hair, raising it for all to see and the crowd cheered. He then turned to Harry’s face.

“Blink,” he ordered. When there was no reaction the demon looked towards Abigael expectantly.

Her face was like marble. “ _Blink_.”

He did. And everything went white.

Twenty-eight. Macy watched Harry die twenty-eight times. Watched as they ripped his clothes off, tied him to a table and cut him open, pulling out his organs in delighted curiosity as he screamed and withered beneath them. Watched as they sent an inordinate amount of time chopping off his fingers, then hands, then feet, then legs until he died of blood loss. Watched as they tied a noose around his neck and strung him up, legs kicking helplessly for twenty minutes before he was finally strangled. Watched as they brought out some of their favourite devices for inflicting pain and used every last one on him. Listened as the demons squabbled amongst themselves whenever someone accidentally killed him too soon, disappointed that they weren’t able to enjoy his agony for longer.

Watched as with every resurrection Harry became more and more broken.

After the fifth time he began to fight again. After the eighth he collapsed to his knees, one hand on the ground, the other weakly trying to defend himself from whatever torture they had planned for him next. After the eleventh, he called out her name.

“Abigael!”

The said demon-witch wasn’t even watching. She was off in the middle distance, her white fingers wrapped around the stem of a crystal wine glass, talking to what looked like some higher level demons. It was as if she had little interest in the party she’d thrown, that the violent delights of her brethren were of little consequence to her. When she heard her name she turned just in time to see Harry get grabbed by several smaller demons who were preparing to drag him away, but as her gaze fell upon them everyone froze and an uncertain hush fell over the compound.

“Abigael … _please_.”

Macy felt as if hot spikes were under her skin. He was begging. On his knees with tears streaming down his face, he was begging her to release him from this hell. For a moment everyone held their breath.

After several heartbeats, with an unchanging expression Abigael turned away. The tension was broken and life returned to the party as Harry collapsed and allowed himself to be limply dragged away. Those were the only words he spoke the entire time.

Macy watched, the blood pounding in her ears, as they hurt him over and over, never once turning away. Beside her she could feel Jimmy shift every now and then as if he wanted to say something, but he respected her wishes to watch. What horrified and disgusted Macy the most was that as the night went on the demons became almost bored with their plaything. Harry could be in the most hideous pain and yet there’d be demons casually having a chat just nearby, or someone who was idly jabbing a knife between his ribs might become distracted if someone walked by with some food. He was just an object to them, so insignificant that even his pain couldn’t really hold their attention once the novelty of his invulnerability wore off. As the party went on and on, everyone became drunker, sloppy and disjointed and the methods of killing Harry went from complex to just plain messy. Demons began to drift away in each new memory as the party started to wind down until at last it seemed as if the horrendous night was at an end.

In a nasty symmetry, by the end of the night the demons had taken to again simply beating him, but this time it wasn’t to the death. They’d actually left him slumped in a corner when someone had suggested a game of cards, apparently so sated in their bloodlust they were at last able to enjoy something a little more mundane. It was then Abigael and Godric walked in.

The sight of Abigael made Macy want to chew glass. The Overlord didn’t even spare a glance at the man she’d allowed to be broken, instead drifting towards the table and asking the players if they’d enjoyed themselves. From all accounts the party was a raging success and the guests, many of whom still had Harry’s blood on their clothes, were eager to impart how much fun they’d had that evening. Once everyone had finally departed the villa Godric turned to Abigael.

“I think we’ll save our debrief for tomorrow.” She hummed in agreement. Then Godric turned to Harry and Macy felt the bile rise in the back of her throat once again. _No, no … what more could they possibly do to him?_ “He’s not looking too good. Should I just slit his throat now? At least that way you won’t have to worry about wasting your time healing him.”

Harry had been staring listlessly at the ground but at this he raised his head and Macy let loose a small sob at what she saw in his eyes. He was still there, a tiny spark that had retreated so far that it was just barely holding on, but he was utterly bereft of hope. There seemed something terribly hollow to his gaze as he shifted it once more to Abigael, who looked down at him as if he were nothing.

“You’re right. I don’t want him staining my sheets.”

Harry didn’t even fight as Godric pulled out a dagger, knelt beside him, and cut him ear to ear.

Everything went white then faded back into darkness.

“That’s enough,” said Jimmy, grabbing her by the elbow. She refused to budge, eyes fixed on where the image of Harry had disappeared. He stepped between her and the empty space, forcing her to look at him. She blinked rapidly at the familiar face. _They’re exactly alike, so why do they always look so different?_ “ _Macy_. Enough. I know enough. I know where he is. Let’s get out of here.”

After a few long moments his words finally sank in and she nodded tightly, closed her eyes and relaxed the hold she had over this space.

“Macy?” Mel’s troubled voice drifted into focus. “Are you okay?”

Everything was so much worse in the real world.

In the dreamscape that had been Jimmy’s mind, while she had felt everything her body had been oddly detached. But now back in the forest Macy felt her stomach clench and heave as the fresh memories of Harry’s torture rushed past her eyes, and she collapsed to her hands and knees, vomiting. She was vaguely aware of Jimmy telling the others what’s they’d seen and she could feel Maggie’s hands on her back, pulling her hair away as the bile rose within her again, as tears started to roll down her face, as she clenched her hands into fists and swore all kinds of wordless oaths that she would _make them pay_ , whoever they were, wherever they went, whoever hurt her Whitelighter for _fucking sport_. She sobbed and choked and spat, eyes and nose running, her rage and sorrow eventually burning low and leaving her cold and empty and so very determined.

When she finally felt her control return she wiped her face on her sleeve and sat back on her heels. Beside her Mel and Maggie were anxiously holding her, comforting her as they tried to calm her down while off in the distance Jimmy was watching carefully with a caged expression that looked so very much like when Harry was doing his best not to panic that Macy knew exactly what he was thinking.

“I’m okay,” she said, her voice raw. When they all gave her a look of disbelief she repeated, “No, really. I’m okay.” Her tone steeled. “You said you could find him?” Jimmy nodded. “Good. I want to bring Harry home. Now.”

* * *

It had been four days since her hugely successful function and Abigael was worried.

Not about her placement as Overlord. In fact, that was now more secure than ever with news of her benevolent relaxation of demon code as well as her _to die for_ parties spreading far and wide, elevating her from someone to be tolerated to a leader to be admired. Every day Godric was bringing word of more and more splintered factions coming to aline themselves under her rule; every day her legend grew. In all respects this was a time for celebration.

Yet, she worried. She was worried that she’d actually broken the Whitelighter.

She hadn’t lied before when she’d told Godric that she wasn’t in the habit of breaking her toys. Asmuch as she’d embraced her demonic side and didn’t mind causing or receiving a little bit of pain with her pleasure, she’d never inflict that upon the unwilling. In her mind, there was just nothing fun about forcing someone to bend, though the mere thought of a beautiful pet just begging to be hurt a little more would coil a heat in her belly.

But that night hadn’t been about submission or dark delights, it had been about pain and nothing else. Pain she’d let run rampant. Pain she’d encouraged. After Harry had returned at the end of the night from his last death, his body had been clean and pure but there was a dullness to his eyes that concerned her. She had ordered him to bed and then had taken a shower, scalding herself red-raw as she tried to wash the taint of the evening off her skin to no avail. The memories felt like an oil slick, a film across her eyes she couldn’t scrub away.

But the party had been a success and word spread. And now she was receiving more requests to see the last of the Whitelighters. And she knew that she was going to say yes.

And she was worried.

Harry hadn’t spoken without being ordered to since that night, and every time he did it came out in a low, dull tone as if he weren’t really there. She had to order him to eat, to bathe, to rest as he seemed disinterested in the world as a whole, staring listlessly until she commanded him to do something, _anything_ rather than just sit like a breathing statue. Sometimes she’d catch him staring it his fingers, counting them, as if making sure they were still there. Sometimes of a night she would think she’d hear a sob or a moan coming from his room, but whenever she entered she’d just see him same as always, laying on his back stock still.

Abigael wasn’t in the habit of breaking her toys. Which meant that she had no idea how to fix them.

And the absolute cruel irony of the whole situation, something she’d never admit to, not even under torture, not even under the influence of the strongest truth serum, was that the real reason she’d wanted Harry by her side was because of _his_ healing nature. And she didn’t mean his powers. Kind, sweet, trusting … foolish, pathetic, gullible … he was the antithesis of almost everyone she’d ever had to deal with in this world. And she had hoped … she’d hoped … she had no idea what she had hoped would happen when she tethered him to her. But it wasn’t this.

On the fourth evening she’d let herself into his room. That’s where he spent most of his time these days as she was beginning to be loathed to see him, but after a particularly stressful meeting with some Primordials she felt the need for … something. He was laying on the top of the sheets, fully clothed, shoes off. His eyes were closed but she could tell he wasn’t asleep. Without a word she closed the door behind her, padded across the room and crawled into bed with him, curling up against his side, her chin on his shoulder, one leg hooked across his. His eyes opened but beyond that he made no acknowledgement that she was there.

She didn’t know what she was looking for but she stayed like that for nearly an hour, silent, drifting somewhere between sleep and reality. Then, in a small voice;

“Harry … tell me about Macy. I want to know. _How would you make love to her?_ ”

He gave a light little sigh and began to speak in a low monotone as if he didn’t care. “I always imagine it in the light. Warm, honeyed, morning sunshine, flooding in through the windows of her room … our room. I pretend that we’re already in a relationship, that I’ve somehow been brave enough and she’s been generous enough … I can’t … I can’t imagine how we might start … I can’t imagine how that could even be a possibility.” He paused, eyes still blankly fixed on the ceiling. “I’ve woken up before her, showered. I return to our room, towel around my waist, to see her making up our bed, still in her pyjamas. She sees me and smiles, and I just can’t believe how beautiful she looks, a goddess bathed in golden light. I close the door behind me and pull her into my arms as if I’d done it a thousand times before and she fits like a missing piece of my soul … and I kiss her. Like it’s something I can just _do_. Soft, playful. She giggles and tries to swat me away, saying something about ‘morning breath’ but that doesn’t deter me. I kiss her again, slower, deeper, and now she knows my intentions … intentions that here at least, I’m bold enough to show.

My hands were at her waist but now one goes lower, cupping at the swell of her ass and pulling her close to me so she can have no mistake as to what my desires are. I move my lips to her neck, kissing her in all the places I know will make her tremble, one of her hands against my chest as the other tickles my ribs. Her voice shakes as she breathes that ‘we shouldn’t, we’ll be late for work’, but then I move from her neck to take the lob of her ear gently between my teeth, making her gasp and shake, and when I ask her if she really wants to stop she grabs the hair at the back of my head and pulls me towards her, calling me a terrible influence before kissing me deeply. Her other hand goes to my towel and pulls it away and I’m naked before her. I’m completely hers and she knows it.

I quickly relieve her of her clothes, lay her down on the freshly made bed and begin to worship her. I can’t imagine that I’d ever grow tired of her taste, of the feel of her skin against mine. I kiss every inch of her as I make my way down the line of her body, knowing that we indeed have precious little time and needing to make her cum at least twice before breakfast. I only tease her a little before I begin to love her with my mouth, licking and sucking in a way I know will drive her insane, something I’ve learned from spending countless hours pleasuring her. Every little gasp and moan she makes goes right to my cock, her hand in my damp hair pulling and demanding with an urgency I try to equal. As soon as I feel she’s near I match my fingers with my mouth, curling inside her in just the right way so that she’s cumming, calling my name, her hand twisting my hair in a way that’s enjoyably painful as she drags me back up her body to kiss me, tasting herself on my tongue and moaning in delight.

For a moment all we do is kiss as she comes down from her high. I can feel her thighs at my waist, pulling me close, her hands skittering lightly down my back, past the sensitive skin on my sides. I jerk away, laughing, and she does it again on purpose with a wicked smile. Then … I feel her fingers pause at my scar. The one I had no memory of for so long. The one I’m now ashamed to bear. And all we do is just look at each other. No words. All I see in her eyes is … acceptance. Is _love_. She knows all of me, all the dark, twisted aspects of my fractured soul and yet here we still are, together. And I can’t … I can’t …”

For the first time his monotone broke. Abigail pulled back slightly from where she’d been clinging to his side to see a single tear roll down and disappear into his hair. He was shaking. “Shh,” she soothed him, placing one hand on his chest, just above his heart. “ _Calm down_.” Instantly, he did. “ _Continue_.”

His voice was now even lower, so much so that if Abigael wasn’t right next to him she probably wouldn’t have been able to hear it. “Her hand goes lower and she grips my cock, stroking once, twice. I groan and drop my head into the crook of her neck, trembling with need, and soon I feel her guiding me into her. I’d never tire of how this feels. We make love slowly in the morning light, tasting each other, delighting in each other, knowing exactly how to please one another. Then I whisper something silly in her ear, something to make her laugh, before I pick up the pace and her laughter dissolves into moans as her fingernails dig into my back and her ankles cross over, locking me to her. Our hands meet, fingers threading together and we both climax at the same time, and I collapse half on her, half on the bed. I don’t want to crush her, but I can’t be away from her, my lips against her shoulder, my arms around her. I’m still inside her and I can feel her foot slowly running up and down my calf, her fingers tracing light, unknowable patterns on my back to sooth the marks she’s left there, marks I’ll feel under my shirt for the rest of the day. We hold onto each other until the world finally decides that we can’t ignore it anymore.”

He stopped. The room seemed to be almost unable to bear the silence.

Then abruptly he asked, “Are you going to fuck me now?”

Abigael jerked into a sitting position, stunned. “Why on earth would you say something like that?”

Harry shrugged, eyes still staring blankly ahead. “Because you’ve taken absolutely everything from me. Everything that was mine and mine alone. My freedom, my life, my dreams. The only thing left would be my body for your pleasure.” His eyes suddenly shifted to hers for the first time. “Or is that something you’re saving for the rest of your demon brethren?”

She drew back unwittingly at the look in his face. There was something there she’d never seen before, something hard and unforgiving, nasty, and for a moment she was unsure if she’d put it there or if she’d simply stripped back enough layers to reveal it. At any rate it unnerved her enough so that she didn’t answer him, merely got up from the bed and left the room without a word, as was her custom.

It was only much later that she realised that she had forgotten to order him to speak. That his answer had been completely of his own volition, the first words he’d spoken in days.


	3. Chapter 3

Time meant nothing to Harry.

Minutes, hours, days, all of it dripped away at a glacial rate, constant, oppressive, inescapable. With the blinds tightly drawn against natural light he lay on the made up bed, unmoving. His physical body held no residual pain, no scars, no visible memory of what had happened that night. There was no aches, no hunger, no thirst. Harry felt weirdly detached from his flesh, almost as if somewhere along his many resurrections his soul had become dislodged from its mortal prison in an attempt to finally free itself from its unnatural existence and now didn’t quite sit as it should anymore. He purposely didn’t think about anything. It was as if he were alone in a deep, dark carven somewhere, a void all around him, lonely, isolated, safe. He knew if he started thinking … no. He just wouldn’t think.

But that didn’t mean he didn’t dream.

_He was back in the Vera-Vaughn attic, watery winter sunlight stubbornly doing its best to push past the ice-frosted windows, his whole body feeling weak and twisted, like his skin was too tight. He recognised this; it was the morning after he’d been dragged out of Tartarus, a miracle he’d never expected anyone to perform for someone like him. And he wasn’t alone either, seated on the old couch that doubled as his bed more days than not, wrapped up in his most comfortable gown and surrounded by the girls._ His girls _, he sometimes allowed himself to think in his most private of thoughts. Macy was by his right, Maggie then Mel to his left, and all three were holding small wrapped gifts._

_“I can’t believe you waited to open these,” he was saying._

_“Well, that was the plan,” grinned Maggie, who was close enough to his side that her cheek was resting against his shoulder. He’d always felt a strong brotherly affection for the youngest sister, his heart swelling with emotion at how much she’d now taken it upon herself to care for him in his recovery, mirroring the ways he’d cared for her. “We told ourselves that we wouldn’t dare open your presents to us until you were back.”_

_“Yeah, it gave us extra incentive,” smirked Mel, the sting in her barb completely removed by her genuine smile._

_“Besides,” said Macy quietly, taking his hand, “It’s not like we could celebrate Christmas without you here.”_

_This was so unusual for a Whitelighter. Over the years with his various charges he’d of course formed bonds and even tepid friendships, but those had never evolved into more than that of a teacher and student … then, as they progressed, master and servant. But here with the most powerful witches in the world he was being treated as more than an equal, even more as a friend, but as real, valued, loved family. Even as he became rather overcome and his throat tightened, he still managed a smile and to get out a wobbly, “Well, now I’m just afraid that the gifts simply won’t live up to the hype.”_

_“Oh, don’t be silly,” laughed Maggie, already halfway ripping her present open._

_Harry remembered very well what he got each sister, something small and almost cliche but having been chosen with thought and care. For Maggie it had been a printed silk scarf, pretty, sensual and decorative; Mel had received a silver fob watch that hung from a heavy chain necklace, a nod-and-a-wink at her abilities; and for Macy, who always had to find a reason before she bought something frivolous, coconut and lime perfume. Like he’d said, they were only small tokens, but whenever he’d see them wearing their gifts or smell the fresh tang of the perfume as Macy passed by he’d always feel a strange happiness that they’d appreciated what he’d got them._

_But it didn't play out that way in his dream._

_The girls tore open their presents to find small boxes containing — nothing._

_“Um … Harry?” Macy’s questioning tone froze him. Maggie and Mel were both rummaging through their empty wrapping paper, confused. He didn’t understand. Did he wrap the wrong thing? Did he somehow forget to include the presents completely?_

_“No … no, try again. They should be there.”_

_Somehow the gifts had re-wrapped but once again as they were opened the sisters found nothing. Harry’s heart started to pound as Mel gave a dramatic sigh. “Well, that’s a let down.”_

_“Not totally unexpected though,” shrugged Maggie, throwing her scrunched up wrapping across the room. “I mean, come on guys. It’s Harry. He’s kind of useless sometimes.”_

_“Tell me about it!” snorted Macy, tearing her paper into long strips. “He’s always messing something up. Getting captured, getting mind controlled. You think he’d be smarted by now.”_

_“You’d think … but remember when he was fucking the woman who killed our mom?” Mel’s stare stabbed right through him._

_Harry opened his mouth, but found that he was unable to say anything in his defence. They were right. Of course. They were always right._

_“I’m not surprised there’s nothing in here,” giggled Maggie, reaching up to rap her knuckled against his head. “There’s clearly nothing in there, either.”_

_“More like nothing in there.” Harry felt his insides go cold as Macy jabbed one finger against his chest. “He’s completely hollow.”_

_“Empty.”_

_“Useless.”_

_“Nothing.”_

With a snap Harry woke up in a cold sweat. His heart felt like it was choking him and he was panting as if he’d just run a marathon. It didn’t take him long to realise that he was exactly where he’d been for days now, off to one side of a large king-sized bed in Abigael’s magazine perfect apartment. The deep darkness surrounding him let him know it was night though, as was normal these days, he had no idea what time it might’ve been. For a while he focused solely on his breathing, taking in deep gulps as he tried to will his heart to slow and his limbs to stop trembling. As far as his recent dreams went, that one was fairly tame. He didn’t see it as an omen or a sign of what the Charmed Ones really thought of him; he held them in too high a regard to ever believe that they would say or think such things. They were all too kind for that, too caring, too quick to offer help to ever indulge in hurting someone. They would never say those things about him, or anyone. He knew from where in his subconscious that all came from.

Those were all things he thought about himself.

When he did allow himself to think he sometimes tried to plan a way out. Escape was impossible, but sometimes he wondered if he could maybe hurt himself just enough to put himself into a coma, or to damage his body in just the right way that he’d be made useless to Abigael … but all of those thoughts fell flat with the knowledge that she’d simply kill him properly and have him resurrected yet again. Maybe he could find some of that green goo that had incapacitated him before, drink some of that, kill himself … and then be unable to orb from his grave? At this point the idea of being buried alive very much had its merits.

He was mildly surprised that Abigael hadn’t fucked him yet. He very much thought she was going to do it that evening she’d made him reveal his fantasy about Macy. He burned with shame whenever memories of what he’d said floated past his mind’s eye. He felt sick, perverted, disgusted with himself that he would use the image of Macy — his charge, his _friend_ — in such a way. The worst part of it was that he couldn’t even fully hate Abigael for making him speak aloud those things because they weren’t something that was forced upon him, but rather something that came from within him. He’d already imagined them so many times, concocted multiple scenarios of their sweat soaked bodies withering together in ecstasy, thought of the ways he could make her laugh, make her gasp, make her moan. Of how he could tease her, delight her, use her, fuck her.

It was a vile, horrid part of himself he’d tried to suppress for months now. His care had mutated into affection, desire and love before he’d even fully understood what it was he was feeling, and then all that was rejected before he’d even had a chance to examine those emotions closer. Macy cared for him as a friend and there was nothing more he should expect from her. She didn’t owe him anything.

A nasty, jealous spike ran through him as he remembered the way she spoke about his Darklighter.

He wanted so very badly to hold her once last time.

_“Harry …?”_

He could almost hear her voice, just like before … _no_. He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes hard enough for white lights to burst and swirl in his darkened vision. _Don’t think, don’t think about anything. Stop it, stop it, stop …_

_“Harry …?”_

Was he asleep again? Was he imagining all of it? Had he finally cracked and was now hallucinating the sound of Macy calling for him?

“Harry! Where are you?”

No … that sounded real. That sounded _close_. Wait.

His eyes snapped open. “Macy?”

* * *

“You know, eventually you’re going to run out of terrible ideas.”

Macy looked over to where Mel was leaning with her back against a tree, arms folded, face stony. Like many times before Macy was struck at how, even though she may be the eldest, Mel was very much the ‘big sister’ of the trio. She had grown up protecting and squabbling with Maggie and had developed that innate sense of proto-maternal leadership that elder sisters across the globe possessed. Alternatively, Macy had been very insular, lonely and focused on looking after just herself, as there was no-one else to worry about. But that wasn’t the case anymore.

“Well, if you have any terrible ideas of your own, feel free to mention them.”

Mel shifted in impotent anger, her arms tightening across herself, but she said nothing.

“We’re worried, is all,” said Maggie, reaching out to grasp at Macy’s elbow, bringing all three of them closer together. A short distance away, still in his cage, Jimmy watched them closely. “You … had a very strong reaction when you came out of that mind-meld. Are you sure you’re okay to do this?”

Macy swallowed against the burning sensation the bile had left in the back of her throat. “I’m fine.”

“Macy, you don’t look fine,” pressed Maggie. “Maybe it’s best if we wait, just a little bit until —”

“We are not waiting.” Mel and Maggie blinked at the intensity in Macy’s voice and she did her best to soften her tone. “You didn’t see. You didn’t see what they were doing to Harry. How they were hurting him over and over … I can’t leave him there for another minute, not when there’s even the slightest chance we could end this all tonight.”

“We _are_ ending this tonight,” said Mel. “We’ve got the unbinding spell and all the components we need. But just you and _him_? Going to get Harry? How do you know he won’t just orb you away to some prison like he did before? Or that he won’t instantly just kill Harry again? What guarantees do we have that he’ll even bring you back?”

Macy sighed and shrugged. “We just have to leave that to hope, I guess.”

Mel sucked in a breath through her nose. “Not the best plan of action.”

“Well, maybe we should all go?” ventured Maggie once more but both Macy and Mel were in agreement here, both shaking their heads.

“No, that’s way too risky as well. Too many people are more likely to get noticed.”

“And if Abigael sees us, it’ll all be for nothing,” added Macy. A small voice in the back of her mind whispered that if she did see Caine, she’d kill her. An act that would be far easier to accomplish without her sisters there to witness it.

But that was not the purpose of this mission.

But if it happened …

“Are you ladies are quite done …?” Jimmy’s bored tone drifted past them making all three women half-roll their eyes in unison.

“Well, if we’re going to do this …” Mel let the sentence drift off.

“We’re going to do this,” nodded Macy firmly as her stomach swooped. “Oh boy. This really is a terrible plan.”

The three women walked back to their captive Darklighter. Without a word Macy stepped forward and used her foot to scratch away a section of the salt circle, the barrier of magical protection falling. Jimmy cautiously extended a hand first before stepping over the line, free, moving to circle around the sisters as he watched them like they were predator and prey, yet Macy was unsure who was who.

After a few charged moments where neither party knew exactly what the other would do Jimmy stretched out his hand towards Macy. “Well? Shall we?”

Mel couldn’t let them go without one final warning. “I swear if I see you so much as looking at Macy the wrong way I’ll—”

“You’ll _what_ , witch?” His faux charm dropped the moment his gaze turned towards her. “Because let me assure you, whatever punishment someone like yourself could possible meet out is absolutely nothing compared to what your Whitelighter is currently enduring. Or did Macy not make that clear enough?”

“Mel,” Macy’s voice was low as she reached out to hold onto Mel’s hand, Maggies soon joining them. “It’ll be fine.”

Mel pressed her lips together, angry, scared but ultimately accepting. With one last final squeeze she and Maggie let go, allowing Macy to walk back towards Jimmy and take his hand.

Then the two of them snapped out of existence.

They popped back into reality in what appeared to be the hallway of the upper level of a beautiful, expensive apartment. A single light illuminated the scene, a staircase leading downward, a row of closed doors. There was not a sound to be heard.

Macy shot a questioning look at Jimmy, who merely shrugged. She called out in a strained whisper, “Harry … Harry?”

“Sh!” Jimmy hissed through his teeth.

She ignored him, walking down the hallway, listening intently at each closed door. “Harry! Where are you?”

It came through so faint she almost didn’t hear it over the sound of her own breathing. “Macy?”

Her heart leap into her throat as she frantically motioned for Jimmy to follow her. The door wasn’t locked and swung open silently, the limited light barely crawling into the luxurious room to show the shadowy silhouettes of furniture, a bed … and a figure laying on its back with its hands pressed over its eyes.

“Harry!” She flew to his side, but even in those few steps elation turned to confused fear as Harry, still with one hand over his eyes, jerked upright and attempted to turn away from her. He tried to get up from the bed but misjudged the distance, his legs buckling beneath him as he half-fell, half-slid onto the floor, pressed up against the bedside table and the mattress.

“No … no, no, no,” he was muttering, one hand blindly flung out in front of him as if in a futile attempt to ward off some evil. “No. It can’t be her. It can’t be.”

She knelt down beside him, captured his hand in hers and held it tight, even as he tried to pull away. He felt so weak. Tears started to burn at her eyes but she refused to let them fall. “It’s okay, Harry, it’s okay! It’s me, it’s Macy!”

But he was shaking his head, one hand still clamped over his eyes. “No, it can’t be. It’s a trick, it’s gotta be a trick.”

“Not a trick,” breathed Macy, moving closer, both her hands now holding his and pulling it to her cheek. The moment he felt her smooth skin under his touch he stilled in his attempts to break free. He was trembling but tentatively his fingers began to explore, to reach out and brushing against her jaw, her hairline.

“Then I must be mad,” the distress in his voice wavered with an uneasy laugh. “That’s it. I’ve finally cracked.”

“You’re not mad, Harry. I’m here.” She leant close, close enough to brush her lips against the shell of his ear. “Hut Eight.”

He froze, the only movement coming from his stuttered gasps. Macy leant back and very slowly, very gently, took a hold of the hand covering his eyes and lowered it. Her heart broke when it revealed that Harry now had his eyes squeezed shut. “M-Macy?”

“Yes, Harry. I’m here.” One traitorous tear slipped free and dropped from the end of her nose. “I’ve come to take you home.” She sniffed. “Harry? Why won’t you look at me?”

His head lowered. “I can’t.”

The sound of movement near them caused both of them to turn, although Harry kept his eyes shut. Macy, however, saw the shadowed figure of Jimmy standing over both of them, his face half lost in the darkness. He was staring down at them, shoulders hunched, fists bunched, with the strangest expression. There was a sharp anger radiating off him, envy … and longing. And it hit her. Even as broken and beaten as he was, even as he cowered on the floor Jimmy _longed_ to be in Harry’s place, longed to be the one who was held and comforted in his time of need. And that longing was infuriating for him. For the first time, Macy felt truly afraid of the Darklighter.

“Who’s there?” asked Harry.

Jimmy answered before Macy could say anything. “Ohhh, you’re not going to like it.”

Harry’s hold of Macy jerked as he tried to orb, to move, to do something, but he just ended up flailing about in the same place. Macy quickly reached out to pacify him. “Sh, it’s okay Harry!”

“Yeah, Harry,” drawled Jimmy, moving away and opening the dresser draws, in search of something. “I’ve been invited, after all.”

“Macy,” his voice was now sounding stronger as he pulled her close. “Why is _he_ here?”

“He’s agreed to help me get you home and no, I don’t trust him, but we need him,” explained Macy. “Now please, tell me why you won’t look at me.”

Harry slumped. “I’ve been ordered to kill you ‘on sight’. I was hoping that there was a little room for a loophole … seems I was right.”

“I thought it might be something like that,” muttered Jimmy coming back and throwing a black silk scarf at Macy. “Being a stickler for the exact words and all that. Something we have in common there, Whitelighter.”

“What is that?”

“A blindfold,” said Macy, already doubling over the material. “Is it okay if I …?”

“Yes … of course,” he said, bowing his head. Macy felt her heart twist painfully at how passive he was beneath her hands, how trusting as she wrapped the material around and secured it at the back of his skull. She swallowed against the lump in her throat. He looked like a prisoner about to be taken out and shot.

“Well,” snapped Jimmy. “Are we going or what?”

* * *

Harry loved being able to orb. Right from the earliest memories of becoming a Whitelighter he could remember the astonishment and delight that came from being able to simply will oneself all about the planet with the snap of his fingers. Well, that bit wasn’t strictly necessary but he did feel like it gave the effect a little extra pizzazz.

So it wasn’t a huge surprise to discover that he did not like it when someone else orbed him.

It didn’t help matters that the someone else was literally the darkest parts of his soul, and the women he cared for most in the world was there _and_ he was blindfolded. But still … anything to get away from Abigael and the rest of her demon brethren.

Macy was between the two and Harry was torn between being selfishly glad that he didn’t have to touch _him_ and irrationally annoyed that Macy did. They landed with a thump, Harry’s lack of sight causing him to wobble dangerously before Macy’s arm linked through his steadied him. The cold, fresh air of the woodlands hit him like a wave and he greedily gulped in the pine scented breeze. Freedom …

“Harry!”

He jumped as two soft bodies thumped into him, arms tangling around, squeezing him tight —

_— his arms being pulled violently behind him as he lay face down on the ground, a knee in his back suffocating him as all around the electric lights burned and the crowd laughed —_

“Maybe … maybe give him some space …”

Macy’s soft, warning tone seemed to come from far away, a strange ringing in his ears dulling his senses. Mel and Maggie - at the moment he wasn’t sure who was at what side - eased their hold on him and he forced himself to breath slow and even. He smiled. He was sure it looked awful. “Ladies …”

“Harry, are you alright?” came Mel’s question from his left.

“And what’s with this?” Before he could answer he felt Maggie’s hand reach up to tug at the scarf.

“No!” Both Harry and Macy cried out at the same time and Harry felt Maggie’s hand get swatted away. “No. I’ve been ordered to kill you on sight … so this is a precaution.”

“Oh, Harry,” whispered Maggie dolefully, clinging tight to his right arm. He raised it so she could duck under as he pulled her into a one armed hug, doing his best to stamp down on the rising panic that was building in his gut at such close contact.

“We don’t know how long we have before _she_ finds out,” said Mel, her voice dripping with contempt over the word ‘she’, and Harry gave a small yet genuine smile at the elder Vera’s steadfast fighting spirit. “We need to do the unbinding spell.”

“Just a minute.” Harry’s smile slid off his face. From the sound of it Jimmy had moved away from their cluster but he was still uncomfortably close. The shock the girls gave him made him almost forget about the Darklighter. “Looks like you don’t need my assistance anymore. Macy? A word?”

Harry still had her hand in his left and automatically tightened his hold as she made to move away. “Don’t …”

“I’ll be fine,” she murmured as she pulled her hand from his, and he knew she wasn’t just speaking to him. He heard leaves crunching as the two of them walked away, the soft mutter of their voices. It was too quiet for Harry to make out any distinct words but the tone travelled beyond that. The Darklighter sounded stubborn, angry even, but Macy matched his energy with her own, her answers short and precise.

Then, there was no noise at all coming from them.

Beside him he felt Mel stiffen, the grip she had on his arm spasming, while Maggie let out a soft _‘Oh!’_ that sounded surprised and a little worried.

Harry felt his gut twist sickeningly. “What … what’s happening?” Even as he asked he felt pathetic, useless. Heat started to burn at the back of his neck, shame, panic, jealousy swirling within him. What if something was happening to Macy and he was unable to protect her? _Poor, dutiful Whitelighter … you’ll never be enough for her …_ “Macy?”

“It’s nothing.” Macy’s voice rang strong across the distance. “Everything’s fine.”

But judging how the two sisters were shifting uncomfortably by his side and how Macy certainly did not _sound_ fine, he knew that they were hiding something from him. Lying to him. And in the worst depths of his imagination he began to concoct exactly what they might’ve been lying about.

One last low mutter came from Jimmy before there was the familiar _thawk_ that signaled an orb. But Harry couldn’t find relief. What just happened? What weren’t they telling him? And why on earth had they trusted _him_ of all people?

The thumping stomp of Macy’s step announced her return. “Where’s the spell? I want us to go home.” She sounded irritated, and from the weighted silence that followed Harry guessed that there was a lot of non-verbal conversation happening all around him.

“Ladies, I —”

_HARRY!_

Harry screamed out and without the support of the sisters about him would’ve collapsed to his knees. The sound of his name being called felt like it had nearly split his skull —

_— a drunken reveller reeled back, hatchet in hand, ready to strike again —_

“What is it?” cried Macy, her previous irritation gone, her voice pulling him back to the present.

“It’s Abigael,” gasped Harry, gritting his teeth through the pain. “She knows.”

“Now!” ordered Mel, not even waiting before she started chanting. “ _Serva mandata mea et omnes sermones a vinculas liberare. Serva mandata mea et omnes sermones a vinculas liberare!_ ”

“ _Serva mandata mea et omnes sermones a vinculas liberare._ ” Macy and Maggie’s voices added to the mix as Harry began to feel the horribly familiar sensation of someone trying to remove his bones from his body. He cried out again, legs turning to jelly, but the firm grasp of the Charmed Ones wouldn’t let him fall; Maggie with her arms around his waist, Mel holding onto his arm and Macy, hands on his shoulders. They were holding him, grounding him, refusing to let him go. “ _Serva mandata mea et omnes sermones a vinculas liberare!_ ”

_Harry! Don’t you dare! You come back to me NOW!_

Abigael’s voice was like nails scraping against the inside of his skull as he felt the urge to orb. No! No more, not again. He wouldn’t, he refused. He tightened his hold on Maggie and Mel, bowed his head until he could feel his forehead touch Macy’s.

“ _Serva mandata mea et omnes sermones a vinculas liberare!_ ”

He felt like he was being torn in two, like weeds were pulling him into the earth, like a tornado was sweeping him away, like —

— _he was literally being torn apart, ropes around his ankles and wrists_ —

“ _Serva mandata mea et omnes sermones a vinculas liberare!_ ”

“Stop … stop …” He didn’t even realise he was speaking aloud until he felt Macy jerk back slightly. “It … hurts …”

_Harry …_

_Abigael … please, stop this. Let me go._

_… you know I can’t._

“SERVA MANDATA MEA ET OMNES SERMONES A VINCULAS LIBERARE!”

Harry felt something deep within him snap and suddenly all four of them collapsed to the ground.

For a long, blessed moment all he could feel was the softness of the sisters all about him and all he could hear was their laboured breathing. Then exhaustion hit him like a truck.

“Harry?” Mel’s alarmed voice rang out as he keeled over and …

_… blessed darkness, cold, quiet. A grave. His grave. He’d never imagined he’d miss being in his grave …_

_A voice, calling him back. No … no …_

“No …” he muttered as he came to, his vision swimming as three concerned faces slowly came into focus, his head pillowed on something firm and soft. “No …. no!” he cried, trying to sit up and shutting his eyes at the same time. “The order — I —”

“Harry, it’s okay,” Macy’s voice came from above him, one of her hands gently cupping his head while the other rested on his chest. It was then he realised he was being cradled in Macy’s lap. “You passed out for a second there, but it’s okay now. We did it. You’re free. You can open your eyes.”

He brought up one hand to grasp at the one that was over his heart. “I … I’m afraid to.”

“Don’t be. Just trust us.”

Trust? Logically, he shouldn’t be trusting anyone anymore. Not after everything with the Elders, with Fiona, with Charity … but still. He did trust. He trusted them … her trusted her.

Carefully he blinked once, twice. Slowly the three sisters came into focus, their concerned faces gazing down at him. He held his breath, waiting for the command to flare up within his blood, to feel his hands reach out beyond his own control … but there was nothing. Just wondrous silence. Deep silence. Empty, cavernous silence.

“How do you feel?” asked Mel tentatively.

“I …” his eyes flickered back and forth between the girls as he slowly sat up. Unbidden, the memory of his dream earlier that night floated by; _“More like nothing in there.” Harry felt his insides go cold as Macy jabbed one finger against his chest. “He’s completely hollow.”_ “I … don’t know.”

* * *

It didn’t feel like a victory. It should’ve. They won, they got their Whitelighter back, they defied the demon Overlord herself. They won. They should be happy.

There was something wrong with Harry.

Macy wanted to kick herself the moment she thought that. Of course there was something wrong with Harry, he’d just been imprisoned and tortured for two weeks, not to mention the horrible unbinding spell they’d just performed to break the bond between him and Abigael. _“It … hurts …”_ Macy shuddered as the memory of his agonised whisper thundered against her ears. They’d hurt him with that spell … but how else were they supposed to save him?

Maggie and Mel could see it too. They might not have known the full extant of what happened to him but they could tell that there was something deeply wrong with their Whitelighter, like there was something missing within him now. Once they’d all taken stock in the forest each one of them had thrown their arms around him for their own personal hugs … which he had answered rather timidly, awkwardly. The drive home had been quiet, herself and Harry in the backseat. She’d watched as he’d methodically run his fingers across one another, like he was washing them without water. Over and over again he did that and she wasn’t overly sure he was even aware he _was_ doing it.

When they got home Macy had offered her own room to Harry, unable to think of him up in the attic on that old couch after everything he’d been through, and was surprised at his rather intense reaction. He’d blanched as if she’d asked him to do something terrible and quickly stuttered that no, he’d really much prefer to be back up in his old spot in the attic, that it was cozy and familiar. Maggie had swiftly agreed and offered to help him up, but if the look she shot back over her shoulder was anything to go by she was just as confused and concerned by his strong reaction as she was.

Once they were gone Mel turned to her.

“So … do you want to talk about it?”

“No. But I do need to brush my teeth. I’ll join the rest of you in a sec.”

“Take your time,” Mel placed and soothing hand on her arm. “I’ll make the tea.”

Macy made a beeline for the bathroom, grabbing her toothbrush and paste. However, as she caught sight of her reflection she paused for a moment, her mind going back to her last conversation with Jimmy.

_“Well, you got your precious little Whitelighter back —”_

_“Don’t you dare talk about him like that! Not now, not after everything we saw.”_

_“Like I care,” snorted Jimmy, though his eyes darted away. “I didn’t do this for him and you know it.”_

_“Yes, I owe you, I know,” gritted out Macy. “But if you want to collect it’s going to have to be later. We need to unbind him before Abigael figures out he’s gone.”_

_“Fine. But I want a downpayment now.”_

_Then his hand was grabbing a fistful of hair at the back of her neck and he was kissing her._

_It was hard, possessive, messy. He seemed to be pouring all his anger and frustration into that kiss as if he wanted her to feel a fraction of what he was feeling, to taste the desperation that was leaking from every pore, to know what it felt like to be used …_

_It was awful. Nothing like she’d imagined Harry would kiss like. Not even, she’d thought, Jimmy would. The two of the around each other certainly seemed to be dangerous for other people._

_She remained stiff in his arms, not pushing him away but certainly not participating, until he pulled back. He looked at her through hooded lids but whatever he saw there didn’t seem to match up with whatever fantasy he’d thought that kiss might’ve unleashed. He let go of her and stepped back, hunched, none of his anger sated._

_“Remember Macy,” he growled. “You. Owe. Me.”_

_And his body twisted into light and he was gone._

Macy finished the vigorous brushing, ignoring the streaks of red in the foam that she spat down the skin. She thought about how Harry had sensed that something was wrong, how he’d called out to her … how she’d deceived him. A white lie, really. She knew he wouldn’t take any of that well and didn’t want to burden him any more than what he clearly was. He needed time to heal and she certainly wasn’t about to lay anymore burdens on his shoulders.

Which was why she certainly was not going to broach the subject of her newly awoken feelings about him. On top of everything else that would simply be just too much for him to deal with.

She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, gave the mirror a wide practice smile, and headed towards the attic.


	4. Chapter 4

Macy carefully peered around the attic door.

_Harry was stretched out on the far couch, the old lumpy one which had been beaten into comfort over the years by the Vera sisters that now doubled as a bed for their Whitelighter more often than not these days. His back was to the door, legs stretched out in front of him, laptop on his knees, headphones on, totally absorbed by what was on the screen. Macy couldn’t help the shit-eating grin that was plastered on her face as she slowly crept up behind him, coming right to his shoulder unnoticed. For a moment she paused, delighting in her sneakiness like a child, half watching the screen where the two angel brothers were battling against a horde of demons rendered in horrible ‘90s CGI, half watching Harry’s rapt expression._

_“It’s good, isn’t it?”_

_Harry nearly hit the ceiling, snapping the laptop shut and jumping to his feet with such a look of surprised guilt that Macy couldn’t help but laugh out loud, still laughing as Harry sheepishly removed his headphones. “How did you find out?”_

_“You’re on the family’s Netflix account, Harry,” she said as if explaining that water was wet, smothering another giggle as he closed his eyes in a wince. “I was wondering why my viewing order was jumping around so much and I know Mel and Maggie don’t watch Heaven’s Vice so …”_

_He opened his eyes again, still shamefaced yet defiant in defeat as he dropped his chin, raised an eyebrow and gave her such a cliched vampire look that she was already laughing before he uttered, in a terrible American accent, “Well, now I can’t let you leave. Not now you know my secret.”_

_Macy waved her hands in the air as if the clear away the hilariously cringe-worthy sight. “Look, I promise my lips are sealed — as long as you promise never to do anything like that again.”_

_He straightened and gave the Scout’s Salute before slumping back down into the couch, squeezing to make room as Macy slipped in beside him, handing her the laptop after she made ‘gimme’ motions with her hands. “But really, don’t tell the others. I think I’m merely weeks away from having Maggie actually believe that I’m hip.”_

_“Yeah, that’s never going to happen,” snorted Macy as she opened the laptop to scroll through his viewing order, enjoying the feeling of Harry chuckling beside her, their shoulders and thighs pressed together. “Oooh, you’re nearly at the end of season two! This is when it starts to get really good and, unlike pre-teen Macy, you don’t have to wait eight months to see what happens after that cliff-hanger.”_

_“Macy, please! Spoilers.”_

_“On a twenty year old show? It’s not my fault you’re so behind the times.”_

_“What are you guys doing?”_

_This time it was Macy’s turn to snap the laptop shut, the two of them jumping in tandem as Mel entered the attic carrying freshly washed vials. She gave them both a suspicious look, though she probably only looked suspicious because they both looked so guilty. “What are you watching?”_

_“Porn.”_

_The fact that it was Harry of all people who said that, in his usual no-nonsense British way, set Macy off in such hysterical laugher that she doubled over, clutching the laptop to her chest as a bug-eyed Mel quickly turned on her heel and exited the room, shouting “Forget I asked!” over her shoulder. After a few moments of uncontrollable giggling she was finally able to straighten, gasping, stomach almost cramping as she wiped away the tears that threatened her mascara._

_For having delivered such an out-of-character line Harry himself was relatively calm as he raised one finger and wagged it in mock threat. “I mean it Macy. We are taking this to. Our. Graves.”_

_Still helpless to her giggles, all she could do was nod._

_They’d spent that afternoon binging the end of season two and half of season three, Macy unable to help herself as she mouthed along to characters or when she’d tap excitedly at Harry’s shoulder or leg when an especially good scene came along. Harry seemed to be a much more passive viewer but took her enthusiasm without complaint._

_If she’d been paying a little less attention to the screen she might’ve noticed that every now and then, particularly whenever she declared that ‘this was the best bit’ and her attention was riveted on the show, Harry’s eyes would slide past the screen and focus instead on the side of her face … on her rapt expression, her laughter, her smiles … but she didn’t see. She didn’t even know that she should be on the lookout for such stolen glances._

That all seemed so long ago.

Macy carefully peered around the attic door.

At least he was up. It was a grey, rainy morning and Harry was standing by the large round window, looking out into a world they could see but couldn’t be a part of. Macy knocked softly at the door, gladdened when he simply turned around rather than jumped at the noise.

“Morning Harry.” Her smile felt like a contortion.

His face was impassive, hands in his pocket. She was sure he did that to keep them from twisting together. “Morning.”

“Did you sleep?”

“A little.” His standard answer, but today he changed it up a little by adding, “Did you?”

Her first instinct was to deflect, dismiss, but when she caught the flicker of concern in his eyes that made him look more himself than he had done for a week she deflated. “No. Not really. But that was kind of already my thing.”

“Midnight bubble baths?” he asked and the shadow of a smile that pulled at the corner of his lips made her heart sing.

“Yeah, not so much these days.” Her smile relaxed into a more genuine shape. “Both Maggie and Mel have walked in on me since you did so yeah, I’m trying to keep my bathing habits restricted to more regular hours.”

“Probably for the best.”

 _Good, this is good_ , the small and ever-hopeful voice in the back of her mind chanted. He seemed better this morning. It had been a week since they’d managed to wrench him out of Abigeal’s claws, a quiet week that was laced with tension. They should’ve been celebrating, but instead they all conversed in soft whispers to each other and with a cloying optimism that almost bordered on patronising whenever they spoke to Harry. He wasn’t fine, was the furthest thing from fine and Macy wasn’t sure how she and her sisters could make any of it better.

But still, they were trying and would never give up.

“Breakfast is on the table, if you feel like it,” she said tentatively. “Or we could bring some up …”

“No, no, don’t bother yourself,” he said quickly. “I’m not hungry.”

Macy swallowed, her fragile optimism crumbling. “Okay. Maybe just some tea and company, then?”

The shadow of a smile was long gone. “Maybe.”

She nodded and when it was clear he wasn’t about to continue the conversation lamely ended with, “Well, we’ve got a spot for you when you’re ready.”

She felt his eyes on her as she left the room but didn’t hear any sound to indicate that he’d decided to follow and so descended down into the kitchen with a heavy heart, shaking her head as Mel and Maggie looked up expectantly before she took her spot at the table with a sigh.

“Does he seem any better?” asked Maggie.

“Actually, yes. A little …” her mind drifted as she contemplated how ‘little’ exactly was a little. Since returning he hadn’t spoken of his ordeal and Macy had yet to figure out a way to explain to him that she’d seen it. That she knew what he’d endured. She gave her head a slight shake as she tried to chase away the images of that night before asking; “How about you — any word from Parker?”

Parker had left the night Harry had returned, intent on reconnecting with the more amicable figures of the demon underworld in an attempt to at least figure out what Abigeal’s next move might be. Maggie tapped nervously against her coffee mug. “Just his usual morning text letting me know he’s alright, but nothing about where he is or what he’s doing.”

Mel reached out to squeeze her sister’s arm. “I’m sure he’ll be fine.”

“I know. Besides, we’ve got Har to worry about … which might be an issue in itself.”

“What do you mean?”

Maggie put her mug down and pursed her lips, having clearly rehearsed the following speech. “Guys … Harry doesn’t know how to let other people care for him. It’s his nature or, I dunno, his Whiterligher-ness, but whatever it is I don’t think he’d going to talk to us about what happened … or what he’s feeling right now. Maybe he doesn’t want to worry us or maybe it’s some weird Elder-rule he’s still unable to break but either way, I don’t see him talking until he’s maybe too far gone.”

“I think you’re right,” nodded Mel, her sleeves pulled right down over her hands that clasped her coffee mug. “He didn’t talk about what happened to him in Tartarus until he accidentally got us stuck in England.”

Macy was focusing everything she had on not bouncing her leg nervously. “So how do we get him to open up?”

“I don’t think _we_ can.” Maggie looked miserable but resigned. “But I’ve found a group that can help. I’ve been doing some research and I’ve found MESS.”

Mel frowned. “You’ve found a mess?”

“No, M E S S. Magical Experience Survivors Support.” Maggie made a few quick swipes on her phone before handing it to Mel and Macy. “I was thinking, while the whole ‘magic is real’ thing was really surprising and all, the idea of witches and ghosts and demons, not so much. I mean, we all knew about witches long before we knew we _were_ witches, right?”

“Right,” nodded Macy.

“So it makes sense that muggles have had to deal with supernatural nonsense for centuries. Look, I did some research and I found MESS, a group over in New Orleans dedicated to helping people who’ve had traumatic experiences with magic. We all know that Harry can’t exactly go to a regular therapist but maybe here, with a group of people who would not only believe him but also might be able to relate to him …?” She looked at her sisters imploringly. “I really think this might help him. Because let’s face it, we’re out of our depth here.”

Macy scrolled quickly through the information about the group, that small spark of hope in her chest glowing a little brighter. While there was a certain sting to knowing that they alone wouldn’t be enough to bring him back to who he was she wasn’t so stupid as to reject help wherever they found it. When a person was sick they needed a doctor and that went for mind as well as body.

“Well, I think that — Harry!”

The other two spun around to see Harry standing somewhat hesitantly just outside the entrance the dining room, his hands nervously clasped together. “Morning, ladies.”

Mel was the quickest to recover, waving him over with only a slightly over emphasised ‘Good morning!’ while Macy and Maggie tried to pick up their dropped jaws. He settled down in his usual spot beside her and it all seemed so normal but it wasn’t normal because he hadn’t joined them for a meal since he’d returned but everyone at that table so desperately wanted it to be normal, to be real, that they collectively pushed through the strange and clinging energy that seemed to envelope them.

Maggie started with a brightly forceful, “Mel! How’s the shop going?”

“Really good, although we just started stocktaking and you know what a bore that can be,” answered Mel, watching Harry like a hawk as he poured his tea. “But it is kind of nice to know that we have all our ingredients stockpiled whenever we need them. Um … how’s training with Jordan?”

“Exhausting, and I keep finding bruises in places I didn’t even know I got hit … which might be a bad thing cause I didn’t notice, or maybe a good thing because I’m getting tougher …?”

At first things seemed more like a play being performed by wooden actors, with Harry himself offering very little to the conversation and only sipping at his tea now and then in a way that served to make Macy more anxious. But as breakfast progressed and everyone began to relax a little she felt that small spark brighten once again as she realised that this was a victory. Sure, Harry wasn’t eating and was barely drinking but he was here, with them. He’d made a choice to leave the attic, a brave choice. A sign he was indeed getting better. She hoped. She wished.

Once everything was finished Harry started to clear the table and at first Macy wanted to stop him, wanted to tell him that it was fine and he didn’t need to wait on them, but Maggie’s soft fingers pressing against her hand gave her pause and time to think. Right, normal. They were trying to be normal and the normal thing was whoever didn’t cook did the washing up. They were just being normal. God, why was this so hard?

After they left the room Macy sighed and dropped her head into her hands, her heartache softened as Mel slid in beside her to pull her into a sideways hug. For a moment the two sisters just held each other before Mel pulled back, her lips pursed in the way that usually indicated that she had something delicate to address.

Finally Macy just asked, “What?”

“I heard you up again late last night,” said Mel carefully. “And we know you haven’t been sleeping well this past week.” When Macy didn’t answer she pressed, “You still haven’t really told us what you saw when you melded with the Darklighter.”

She rubbed at her tired eyes. “I still see it. I just … every time I close my eyes, I see it. What they did to him.” She clamped her jaw shut as tremors started running up her throat, fighting against this bizarre feeling that if she started talking about this she might never stop, that every horrible detail would spill out and contaminate their home.

Mel saw this. “Macy, you can’t hold this in,” she said, her hand a comforting weight on her back.

“But I can’t talk about it either. Not yet. I just — I feel —” She huffed out a humourless puff of laughter. “God, this is nothing! Nothing compared to what he endured, what he had to fight against. All I did was … watch.”

A sudden crashing noise and Maggie’s high pitched yelp made the two of them launch out of their seats and into the kitchen almost faster than sight, both of them feeling the crackle of power running through their veins as they began to summon their gifts in defence of whatever was happening. When they got there they saw Maggie, still with her bright yellow washing gloves on, eyes and mouth wide as her back was pressed up against the sink. And just near the entrance Harry was knelt, gingerly picking the pieces of a broken plate.

“What happened?” cried Mel, one hand already up to burn or freeze any threat.

“Nothing. I just dropped it,” muttered Harry, his face turned away from them as he hastily tried to stack some of the larger pieces in one hand. That was shaking. He hissed, flinched, and those pieces tumbling back to the ground as a deep cut between his thumb and index finger began to bleed. And for a moment, he did nothing. Just stared as the blood welled and started to track in a smooth line down into his palm.

“Harry …” Macy felt as if her own voice was coming from very far away as she moved to take his bleeding hand. “Harry, let me see …”

He quickly yanked it out of her grasp, standing up. “No, it’s fine. It’s nothing,” he said curtly. He looked around the kitchen manically for a moment before grabbing a tea towel and wrapping it haphazardly around the wound as he made to leave. “It’s fine, I’ll take care of it …”

“Wait,” Mel stepped in front of him. “Just, sit down. I’ll go and get a healing potion and —”

His eyes snapped up to look directly at Mel, who gasped and took an unwitting step back as she saw what was in them. Macy couldn’t blame her, a sicking bile rising in her throat he glared at both of them with a wild, barely contained rage, his lips pulling back from his teeth in a half-snarl. “ _No potion_.”

He pushed past them, footfalls echoing loudly in the otherwise quiet home as he disappeared upstair, the attic door not exactly slamming but closing with enough finality that didn’t invite company.

For a moment the three of them remained frozen to the spot. “Mel?” Macy tentatively reached out to rub her shoulder, feeling her tremble. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” her answer came out breathless. “Yeah, I’m … he just seemed so angry.”

Macy swallowed around the lump in her throat. “I know, but I don’t think he was angry with you. Maggie?”

“I’m fine. I’ve just never seen him like that.” She stripped off her gloves and went to her sisters as the three of them began to carefully collect the broken pieces. “But see? This is what I meant. He isn’t going to talk to us.”

Macy frowned as she examined the shattered remains, the pattern of the break reminding her of something she’d seen in a course once. “Oh no,” she murmured. “I don’t think he dropped it, the pieces are much too small. To get to that size, there’d have to be some force behind it.”

“He threw it,” nodded Maggie sadly. “I only saw it out the corner of my eye … I thought maybe I was mistaken.”

“Why would he do something like that?” frowned Mel as she moved to get a dustpan and brush, before freezing. “Oh _no_.”

“What?”

She looked at Macy. “Do you think he might’ve heard us talking?”

Macy felt her heart seize as she realised what that could mean, while Maggie looked concerned. “Maybe? I could barely hear you talking at the sink and couldn’t make out any words, but Harry might have.”

Macy quickly dumped the broken pieces of crockery into the bin and dashed up towards the attic. She reached the door, heart in her throat, and tapped gently but insistently. Nothing. “Harry?” Another round of knocking as she tilted her head towards the door, listening closely. She couldn’t hear a thing.

After bursting through the door it quickly became apparent that Harry was gone.

* * *

“We shouldn’t have left him.”

They were back in the Command Centre, Macy pacing, wringing her hands as she and her sisters focused on figuring out how to once again find Harry and bring him home.

“It could all be fine,” said Mel, though it was obviously that she barely believed her own words. She was half inside one of the old cupboards, shifting things about. “Maybe he just needs some time to himself, to cool off.”

Maggie looked up from the world map she’d spread over the desk. “But too cool off from what? He seemed so angry at the idea that we know what happened to him, but I thought he’d eventually tell us himself.”

“Control.” And here Macy knew exactly what she was talking about. “Keeping that secret, that pain to himself was something he could control, and he lost even that.”

Mel sighed sadly as she retrieved what she’d been searching for and came back to the desk. “Well, hopefully we’ll be able to find him easier this time.” She opened her hand to show her sisters the amethyst pendulum she’d managed to find. “This didn’t work before, but maybe now he’s been completely severed …” Everyone winched at the turn of phrase but didn’t comment on it. Mel took a deep, calming breath and dropped the pendulum so it was now dangling from its silver chain, making sure to steady it before she concentrated and began to drowse. Although they rarely used drowsing they’d all quickly realised that Mel was the most adapt to it, and the other two watched with bated breath.

For the longest moment nothing happened. Then slowly, slowly, it began to spin. At first it was small circles that could easily be mistaken for Mel’s own twitching, but as the rotations became bugger and bigger while her hand stayed completely still it was clear that magic was working its way to an answer. With a snap it flew out of her fingers and became stuck to a section of the map as if attached by a magnet. And suddenly everything became so obvious.

“Scotland,” murmured Macy, the anxiety in her gut only growing. “Bryre Castle.”

* * *

Stepping through the portal from Seattle to Scotland was to go from cold to bitingly cold. Dark, heavy clouds hung ominously overhead and the frigid wind cut through their jackets with ease. Bryre Castle loomed large on the shores of a lake, a view which might’ve looked majestic in other circumstances but here just looked foreboding and grim. The sisters exchanged worried glances then made their way inside.

From the moment they stepped into the dim and gloomy interior it was clear that they weren’t alone. From deep within the walls the sounds of muffled crashes and thumps could be heard, inconstant and forceful. As they made their way closer to the sounds Macy’s eyes wandered over the deep cracks, broken plaster and smashed windows that scarred what was once a mighty structure, caused by the magical defences of the castle crumbling down after Harry’s last visit.

With Abigael.

Macy swallowed down the bad taste that flooded her mouth at the mere thought of that woman and instead focused on the direction the sounds were coming from. It didn’t take long for them to find the source, cautiously making their way into a vast, church-like room that was strewn with collapsed bookshelves, destroyed book, broken bits and pieces. In the middle of all that was Harry.

He looked wild. Sweat soaked and covered in grime it was clear that he was the cause of such destruction as he wielded a sturdy metal pipe that might’ve once been some kind of archaic plumbing. The moment he heard them enter he spun around, his hair a mess across his eyes, and while a fleeting look of resentment passed over his features he didn’t seem surprised to see them.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he spat before turning back to swing the pipe at the last piece of a table that was still standing.

“We came to make sure you’re okay,” said Maggie in a wavering tone, to which he only gave an empty laugh, intent on smashing the table to bits.

“Harry, what are you doing?” called Mel.

He continued to laugh as he turned back to them for a split second, eyes unnaturally bright. “I don’t know. I don’t! I wanted to … I wanted …” He spun back to continue his path of ruin, bringing down the pipe again and again as he moved further into the room.

Macy felt like she couldn’t speak. She felt a lump in her throat almost choking her, but she managed to maintain her composure as she and her sisters carefully edged closer. She knew absolutely that Harry would never hurt any of them, but in this state …

Pushing through her fear she managed to call out, “Harry …?” but couldn’t managed anything more.

But it seemed to be enough. Just for a moment he hesitated and they were able to get close enough for Macy to see that the cut on his hand was still bleeding profusely, now accompanied by many more small nicks and abrasions. “I had an idea that I should make sure this place was destroyed completely, that nothing of what happened here could ever be repeated on anyone else. But — what’s the point?” He began to laugh again and Macy wanted to cover her ears against the heart wrenching sound. “Because everyone’s gone now. The Elders, the other Whitelighters … even the other Darklighters. Just, _gone_.” He swung the pipe down on the last word and turned a small statue to dust. “So now it’s just me.”

He moved again and again they followed until they reach the back of the room, where what looked like a large stone alter stood, ancient and terrible. Macy’s heart rate spiked. Although this was the first time she’d been here, she’d heard of how they’d created Whitelighters and knew that they were now looking down at where Harry — their Harry — had been created.

Maggie tired to reach him. “You’re not alone, Harry. You have us.”

“And you _chose_ us,” added Mel desperately. “You could’ve gone anywhere but you chose to stay with us.”

He went rigid at that, his back to them, shoulders bunched up. “Melanie … I had nowhere else to go.”

Macy began to feel physically sick as he started to attack the hulking alter, the sound of the pipe hitting stone ringing throughout the castle as he tried desperately to destroy the one thing left that had created him. It was a fruitless labour but one he seemed hopelessly fixated on. As he continued to strike at the immalleable stone he started talking again, rapid, disjointed, coming out between panting breathes.

“I thought I’d made a choice, the choice to become _this_. That I was here for a reason, that I _meant_ something … but that was never real. It was never my choice that brought me here. There was no heroic act, no sacrifice, and as for a second chance … a chance for what? To be denied memories, family, friends, to be erased over and over again?” Small bits of stone were flying off with each strike. “ ‘Harry Greenwood’ isn’t a person, he’s a thing, a shell that doesn’t matter. I never asked for this! I never asked to be brought back, to be split! They should’ve left me alone … they should’ve left me dead. They should’ve left me dead! _You should’ve left me dead!_ ”

He collapsed to his knees in front of the unforgiving stone.

The vast alter was now covered with nicks and cuts, shallow slashes into the stone that did little more than cause aesthetic damage, though sweat now poured down Harry’s face and his knuckles were white as they gripped the metal bar. It was clear that he simply didn’t have the strength to destroy it, to destroy the thing that created him. He knelt, panting, frame hunched and almost trembling with unsatisfied rage … then he glanced over his shoulder and for the first time truly looked at them. Just a look, but they knew exactly what he was asking.

_Help me._

Macy didn’t know how she wasn’t crying, but her eyes were dry as she was the first to step forward, gently taking Harry by the elbow and pulling him away from to stand a safe distance, handing him over to Maggie who silently slipped her hand into his. Mel came up along his other side to stand at the opposite end of the alter to Macy, righteous fury burning in her eyes as she stared down at the thing that had stripped so many people of their identity and freewill, raising both her hands and concentrating. For a few moments it looked like nothing was happening, then a light dusting of frost began to emerge on the stone-top. You can’t get blood from a stone but you can freeze the molecules within. A strange, soft sound filled the air, like a door creaking open, and after a nod from Mel confirmed it Macy also raised her hands.

Though she had shaken rooms, broken windows and moved furniture before she never had she tried to break something as solid as this. As she felt the tendrils of magic reach out and into something that should’ve been impermeable she could feel the fissions of weaknesses that Mel had created and that Macy now exploited. Pressing her lips together and frowning, Macy pushed into those minuscule cracks, pouring her frustration, her helplessness, her contempt for the Elders and Abigael and all those who sought to hurt and control others into those fine lines that were slowly beginning to appear.

The alter groaned and then popped, deep cracks starting to spiderweb their way across the ancient artwork. A grating noise like an ice shelf crumbling rent the air and she knew that they almost had it. She glanced up at Mel, who’s hands were now shaking, and the two of them shared a nod before looking over to Maggie and Harry. Maggie gave Harry’s hand a squeeze before letting go so she could pull her defence stick out of her pocket, extending it with a flourish as Harry once again raised his pole, his face a mask of fury and determination.

The alter gave an almost mournful sound, as if it knew its time had come. In unison Maggie and Harry raised their weapons and as Mel and Macy gave one last magical push they brought them crashing down on the compromised surface, shattering it into dust.

The resounding boom echoed throughout the castle and into the wilderness beyond as the blast threw out threw small pieces of debris into every corner of the room, Macy wincing as one clipped the side of her face. As the dust settled the four of them looked down at the remains of the alter, a crumbled pile of stones and grit, nothing larger than a basketball remaining.

Macy finally dropped her hands at the same time Mel did, heat prickling under her hairline, her heart racing. She turned to Harry.

He seemed stunned, breathing heavily as he stared down at the destruction of the thing that had been the beginning of his pain. The pole fell from limp fingers and he stumbled back a few steps before unceremoniously dropping to the floor, sitting with his legs pull up and his hands behind him, still fixated on what was left of the alter. As they stood in the cold, dusty room all that could be heard was the sound of him panting. Which slowly mutated into sobs.

He dropped his face to his knees, his hands covering his head as he tried to hide it, to control it, to contain it, but it was no use. Deep, wracked, painful and undeniable, whatever control he’d had within him was now broken and those feelings he had been ignoring would no longer be silenced. On the floor of the place where he had been created, covered in sweat and dust and cuts, Harry wept.

Wordlessly the sisters came around him, their embrace enveloping, sheltering and protecting him. Whereas before he’d endured their touch with a rigid acceptance now he seemed like water, like smoke, a moment away from disappearing completely. Macy rested her chin on his shoulder, her hand rubbing soothing circles on his back, her eyes open but unseeing.

As they sat huddled together the smallest beams of watery sunlight began to drip through the broken windows above.

* * *

The icy wind had not abated but the darkened clouds were now fractured, allowing shafts of bright afternoon sunlight to pierce the otherwise gloomy countryside, giving the scene a freshness it had lacked before. The four of them had exited the ruined castle, sealing up its secrets and shame, abandoning it to time. In an unspoken agreement they’d decided against returning home just yet, the shelter and safety of the Command Centre and their home unfortunately no competition to the crisp, clean air of an autumn afternoon. They’d begun walking along the shore of the wind-tossed lake, silent at first until Maggie remarked that it had been so long since any of them had taken a vacation and she and Mel began to recount one of their childhood holidays. Macy listened with that familiar lonely ache that would still make itself known whenever her sisters talked of a life she’d wished she’d had, but this loneliness was now tempered with the knowledge that together they would be able to make new memories, as a family.

Harry didn’t say a word, and still didn’t as she sidled up beside him and slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow though he did press his shoulder against hers for a moment before the two of them settled into a rhythm, keeping pace just behind Maggie and Mel. Macy didn’t miss the way the two younger sisters exchanged a glance before picking up just the tiniest amount of speed and pulling ahead while she and Harry lagged behind.

After a few more minutes quietly walking along she finally utter a soft, “How are you feeling?”

He seemed to genuinely think over his answer. “Better. I know that … display back there probably didn’t look like it, but I really feel much better. Lighter.” He pulled back on their linked arms to drop his hand and curl it around hers. She could feel grit and dust rub against her skin. “I’ve been so angry, for so long. Ever since I … was gone. At first I couldn’t do anything about it, and then … then I didn’t know how.” He paused, his expression twisting as he said witheringly, “But I should’ve done something before I started throwing things around like a brute.”

Macy’s heart was again in her throat. “Why did you throw the plate?”

Harry stopped, turning to face her but not letting go of her hand. “I heard you say that you _saw_.” She nodded. “Through the Darklighter’s memories?” She nodded again. “How … how much did you see?”

“The whole thing.”

His face crumbled and he made to pull back, to turn away, but Macy’s hold on his hand tightened as she swung him towards her and folded him into her arms, cheek to cheek. He was trembling but all his tears had already been spent so they held onto one another, Macy clinging at his shoulders, his arms twined around her waist. When he spoke, it was muffled into her neck. “I never wanted you to know. I never wanted any of you to know.”

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, fighting against the sting in her eyes and throat. “I am so, so sorry for what happened to you. I’m sorry we couldn’t find you sooner and bring you home before all that. I’m sorry we failed you.”

He jerked backwards, pulling away from her, shaking his head. “No … no, you _saved_ me, Macy. In every possible way, you saved me.” He raised his hand and for one insane second Macy thought he was about to caress the side of her face. Then she saw the familiar white glow appear, flooding half of the world so that his face was the only thing she could clearly see, the sting from the small nick fading as he healed her. He lowered his hand and her skin yearned for his touch, her gaze holding onto his just a fraction too long. Long enough for something hot and almost dangerous to pass between them. Harry must’ve felt it too as he suddenly turned away, adding, “I owe you, and your sisters, so much more than I could ever repay.”

He again held out the crook of his elbow for her and she took it with a sense of relief and disappointment as they continued on their walk, walking in companionable silence as they made to catch up with the small distant figures of Maggie and Mel.

* * *

It was only when they were back in the safety of the manor did Harry allow them to look at this wounds on his hands and arms. They’d all wanted to use the healing potions they had at the Command Centre but he’d adamantly refused.

“I know this might sound ridiculous but I need to heal naturally. I don’t mind the pain, or the time … well, for me, it’s faster rate of healing anyway. Please. I can’t just wash this away.”

“I understand.” Macy had spoken quickly enough that both Mel and Maggie exchange knowing looks, realising that this desire came from whatever he’d experienced at the hands of those demons and tactfully deciding not to press the issue.

“But that still doesn’t mean that we have to leave them looking like that,” said Maggie as she’d plopped Jordan’s first aid bag on the table. At Macy’s raised eyebrow she defensively said, “I’ll be sure to get it back to him tomorrow!” before retiring to the kitchen to help Mel with lunch.

Macy took his damaged hands in hers, paying special attention to where he’d cut himself with the broken crockery. It was deep and now had bits of dust and rubble caked in it, but she knew it’d be healed without leaving so much as a scar within a week. While Harry took the cleaning and alcohol wipes stoically Macy couldn’t help screwing up her nose sympathetically as she picked out the debris and bandaged the wound.

“Well, this does make for a change,” he said, and she looked up to see the corners of his pulled back in a gentle, genuine smile. “I’m the one that’s supposed to look after you.”

“You already did,” she said, indicating to her check. “Now I look after you.” She kept her eyes on her work, but she could feel the heat of his gaze on her skin.

Mel and Maggie came back with a light lunch, more of a snacking situation, and for the most part the four sat there in a pleasant re-do of their awkward morning meal. But Macy could feel that there were still some things that we left unsaid and as the meal began to wind down she could see Maggie’s restlessness growing.

Finally, “Har … can I ask you something?”

He looked a little anxious at what may be coming, but nodded.

“How much did you mean what you said?”

He frowned. “I’m not entirely sure …?”

“When you said you were here because you have nowhere else to go.” The words all came out in a rush and she curled in on herself a little, but everyone could see that the answer was important to her. “I know you were angry and things get said in the heat of the moment but …”

Harry reached out placed a soothing hand over hers. “You’re right. I was angry. I’m still angry, and hurt, and I took it out on you three. That’s why I went there in the first place, in the hopes that you wouldn’t have to see …” His voice faltering, he cleared his throat before continuing. “But deep down I knew you’d come. You always do, no matter what. You even dragged me out of hell. I’m still not entirely certain how I feel about this second life of mine or how it eventuated, but if there’s one thing I know above all else it’s that knowing you three, watching you become the powerful witches you are today … if nothing else in my life mattered the fact that you’ve been so wonderful as to allow me to be part of your family, well … that makes everything else worth it.” The four of them exchanged watery smiles as Harry gave Maggie’s hand a squeeze. “So to answer your question, I honestly don’t have anywhere else to go, but that’s because I have nowhere else I’d rather be.”

“We don’t want you going anywhere either,” said Maggie, brushing a few stray tears away. “And we want what’s best, for all of us. Which is why we were talking earlier about this support group down in New Orleans …”

Macy hadn’t been entirely sure how Harry would react to the idea of therapy that morning, but now that a lot of his anger had been expelled he was much more malleable to the thought. The four of them quietly discussed their own dealings with such things, with Mel admitting that she’d sought help after her mother’s death along Maggie almost professionally listing the benefits. Harry listened almost without speaking and at the end agreed to at least try such a session later that week, much to everyone’s relief.

He’d smiled as they relaxed. “Well, I think it’s a good idea. As a very wise woman once said … I need to let this pain go.”

His eyes met hers and once again she felt that spark of something that she just couldn’t address. No yet. Not when everything and everyone was so fragile.

The rest of the day was spent pottering about the house, with Macy retiring to her room in the late afternoon to relax and try and loose herself in some books, but instead she found herself sinking deeper and deeper into the mattress, the draining events of that morning taking their toll as she slipped into an uncharacteristic afternoon nap.

_When she opened her eyes she was laying flat on her back, staring up at the ceiling. The room was dark, the world a featureless void outside her window. And she was not alone._

_Leaping to her feet she skated around the edge of the room, trying to keep as much distance between herself and Jimmy._

_“What are you doing here?”_

_He smiled. Her skin crawled. “You still owe me, Macy.”_

_Slowly he stalked towards her as she fought against every instinct that was telling her to run. She did owe him and she’d had some terrible notion that this … whatever this may be, was him coming to collect._

_He came to stand before her and slowly raised his hand to gently run his fingertips against the skin of her cheek — just in the manner she’d wished Harry would’ve done. But Jimmy’s touch was bolder, tracing downwards from her face to run his knuckles along the line of her neck and across the rise of her collarbone._

_“This is a dream, isn’t it?”_

_He nodded. His touch, so very real, seemed to burn through her clothes. “Yes. Of course. But just because it’s happening in your head, doesn’t mean it isn’t happening.” His hands moved to her shoulders and with the slightest of pressure he guided her back to the bed, pushing down so that she was seated on the edge. Something akin to panic began to bubble within her as she expected him to push her down and clamber on top … it was real, but it wasn’t, but it was happening, but not to her physical body so did it really count …?_

_Then he shocked her all the more by dropping to his knees before her, his hands drifting down to rest lightly on her thighs as he ever so slightly spread her legs and settled between them. As he looked up at her from his position on the floor she felt herself swallow as something white-hot streaked through her panic, mixing with it in a strange yet not strictly unpleasant way. He was looking up at her in a way Harry never would, possibly never could. Wild, open, almost helpless lust that bordered on a type of worship that was utterly subservient. For a split second Macy imagined that she could twine her fingers through his soft hair and tug him forward, and he would willingly sink down between her legs and stay as long as she held him there. She could make him do whatever she wanted here in this dreamscape, make him pleasure her with his mouth for as long as she desired and then wake before he’d even been allowed any favour in kind … and he would probably thank her for the privilege. The knowledge of this made her feel lightheaded with power and for a moment the temptation to just give in to this wicked fantasy — after all, it was only in her head — was almost overpowering._

_And then that’s when she realised what he was actually doing. What he’d tried so many times before. He was seducing her and damn if it wasn’t working. He’d played the part of the trusted Whitelighter and to fool her, then he’d tried the rough approach and having realised his mistake, was now offering instead of taking. And what was worse was that she wanted, she wanted more badly than she could ever really admit to even herself. The brief touches from their strange dinner together, the way she fit into his arms when they danced, his breath against her neck, his hands warm and steady at her waist, all of that offered a glimpse into what might have been had she behaved in a braver manner, if Harry had decided to actually talk about it rather than be the good man he was and restrain himself._

_But it wouldn’t be him. Just a substitution. And Macy suddenly found that she didn’t care for the idea of a substitution anymore._

_Her hands stayed by her sides on the mattress even as his fingers softly traced patterns on her clothed skin in ways that made her shiver. “James.” She said his name carefully, evenly. “Why are you here?”_

_She saw the moment he realised that this tract wasn’t going to work either and as a hardness passed over his features she wondered when Jimmy would finally understand that she wasn’t some puzzle to be solved, that there wasn’t a cheat code he could enter into her that would make her suddenly forget what danger he posed … or that she could suddenly forget the man he’d been carved from._

_“Oh … Macy,” his hands slid further up her legs until they were resting against her hips, light and unmovable. “I need you to kill someone for me.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Been a while. Have you ever written like, heaps, and then realised none of it would work and then lost motivation at the prospect of rewriting? I have! But I'm here now.
> 
> Big thanks to MGreenwood (Majestrix)! Your comment reminded me of this fic when I had hit a massive wall and gave me the inspiration to carry on. Thank you so so much! x


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